The Curly 'E'
by bow-to-my-tie
Summary: Rose Tyler and John Smith have done homework at the same coffee shop for several years. Their relationship was always mutual - yearning for each other across yellow tablecloths and scratched up wooden floors. It's only when Rose is thinking about dropping out of school due to her abusive boyfriend Jimmy Stone that things get complicated. Coffee Shop AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey guys! I'm trying out a brand new writing style with this and I'm super proud of how this turned out! Please tell me what you think because I'm super nervous about posting it, honestly. xD Enjoy! xx

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><p>It happened every Monday through Friday at six in the afternoon during school seasons. Six. Never five, never seven. Always six on the dot.<p>

The coffee shop was called Mancini's, a unique name for a not-so unique place. It was like every other coffee shop in London (of which there were a lot), and they both simply went there for the fact that it was closer to their schools than any other place and wasn't as crowded as the Starbucks that was on every other corner.

He knew the girl's first name only because it was written in cursive handwriting with beautiful swoops and a curly 'e' on her cup every evening. Rose. He never could determine her last name.

Sometimes, when he walked by her table he tried to sneak a look at her paper to see her full name. It was either not on the top of the page, or it was too awkward for him to stand still long enough to read it. He felt stupid for stressing about it every time he saw her.

And he assumed she knew his name. That is, if she ever paid attention to him at all. John Smith. She would know his first name, not his last, because it was written on the cup just as hers was.

In the exact same handwriting.

That thought made him content for some reason.

She always ordered a caramel Frappuccino with extra whipped cream. Sometimes, when it was colder outside and she wore skin-clinging beautiful sweaters, she ordered hot chocolate. Three times she had bought something from the bakery. But only three times.

Her homework was usually math, sometimes science, from what he could see. A couple of times he had seen her come in and just scribble in a notebook. Every once and a while she would come in with English homework or some language he couldn't identify from afar, but normally it was math.

And normally she looked frustrated with it.

He wanted more than anything to sit with her and help her through each question.

No – he wanted more than anything to just say a bloody word to her. Why did he have to be so terrified of a girl probably (around, he hoped… What if there was a gaping age different?) the same age as him? He wasn't terrified of girls in general.

But somehow Rose with the curly 'e' on her cup and the beautiful blonde hair and the frustrating homework she was assigned petrified him. He froze up around her. One time she had said 'Excuse me' when she was trying to get by him on a particularly crowded day in the shop, and he had just opened his mouth and gaped at her.

Because she had talked to him! She had spoken to him! Straight to him!

It was only after she had reached her designated table (honestly, it should have her name written on it. She always sat there. It was one of the things he loved about her) that he realized he had probably looked like a gaping fish. After that he had just ordered his coffee and sat down.

He always ordered an ice caramel macchiato.

Sometimes he bought the same drink as her in a stupid and desperate cry for attention. God, he was such an adolescent sometimes. He was far too intelligent to do something like that. But, Rose with the curly 'e' was a special case.

One time, she had come in with a friend. That had been a bit strange. Her name had been Shareen and they had talked about boys the whole time.

John noted that by the time he left the shop with his completed essay, Rose hadn't done a single question on her own homework.

He was unrightfully concerned for her.

The next day she seemed more frustrated than usual, he noticed. There were more papers than usual on her table, too.

God, he wanted to help her.

Their pattern continued for two years – and on the first day of his senior year in high school he was thrilled to see her there. Where she was always sitting.

Today she was wearing a lavender shirt that, when she raised her arms, exposed some of her midriff and some tight fitting jeans. It was too hot outside for jeans, he noted to himself as he watched her order her drink. The man behind the counter said something to her and she laughed, placing her hand on the man's arm.

John wondered if she knew him, or if she was just overly friendly like that.

Her brown boots were sexy and he noticed they were new by the fact that they didn't have a single mark on them. He could see the outline of a price tag on the inside of the neck of her shirt. She must not have noticed.

He wondered what grade she was in. She definitely didn't go to his school; he would have noticed a beautiful girl like that walking around the hallways.

Whenever he thought of Mancini's he thought of the color yellow. Maybe it was the yellow tablecloths or maybe it was the blonde of Rose's hair. John could never quite figure it out despite the fact that it was a thought he had dwelled on several times before. That was just how his mind worked – it hopped from one thing to the other.

His friend Donna told him that he was a prodigy from the day he was born.

He was smarter than most people in his grade. He worked hard and could spurt off random facts about just about anything. He could anagram words in a matter of seconds into every possible combination, and he spoke four languages (English, French, Spanish, and he was pretty fluent in German if he did say so himself).

So, yeah, just a bit of a prodigy.

But there was no way he could compare to Rose with the curly 'e'. There was just no way.

She practically lit up the room when she walked inside. She made him happy when she smiled even if she wasn't smiling at her (god, how happy would he be if she ever did smile at him? He would probably implode… That was a thought he would save in his 'ponder on later' collection).

He ordered his coffee and sat down at his usual table. He didn't have much homework, it was the first day of school, after all, but he felt like he was breaking some unspoken tradition by not showing up at Mancini's.

Maybe she felt that way too. She was here, after all, even though she probably had no homework either.

Rose with the curly 'e' pulled a silver laptop out of her adorable polka dotted bag. It was a new laptop. Not the one she used last year.

She took a sip from her drink, her lips surrounding the straw in a way that was somehow tantalizing, and lifted up the laptop screen.

Then she started typing. He realized he was staring at her and the other people in the shop would probably start to take notice and think of him as a stalker soon, so he tore his eyes away from her and looked at the book in front of him instead.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

He had read this book nine times. It never got old. Donna (you know, his previously mentioned friend who constantly called him a 'skinny strip of nothing' as she so eloquently put it) called it childish on occasion, but he knew that deep down she loved the series just as much as he.

He had gotten her into it when they were children. He would know.

An uncalled for image flashed into his mind:

_Him reading this book to Rose while they curled up on his small bed in his tiny flat. Her head would be pillowed in his lap and he would read out loud with her hanging onto every word._

_Every once and a while she would stop and ask him a question, some having to do with the book and some having to do with his thoughts on it. He didn't mind. They would talk for a bit before he would continue reading from where they had left off._

_Eventually, Rose with the curly 'e' would drift off to sleep to the sound of his voice._

_He would tuck the covers over her and remove her head from his lap only to wrap his arms around her and be the big spoon to her little. He would kiss her hair and breath in her scent, the scent of a caramel Frappuccino and lovely shampoo and roses._

Would Rose smell like roses? Another thing to add to his ever-increasing 'ponder on later' collection.

Maybe he should start writing these things down.

And, god, he needed to stop these dumb fantasies. They made places on his body stir where they definitely shouldn't be stirring while in a public place.

The Rose of his fantasies was currently smiling and squinting her eyes at her computer screen, rather adorably, might he add.

If only he wasn't so scared of her. If only he could walk up to her, flash her a debonair smile, ask her what was so amusing. Maybe she was looking at a funny post on Facebook or some other social media site. Maybe her friend had sent her something.

Maybe it was her boyfriend, a tiny voice in the back of his mind said.

God, he wanted to stab that little voice sometimes.

Not that it was any of his business if she had a boyfriend. Of course it wasn't. Wasn't his business at all. Though, said boyfriend probably wasn't good enough for. Was there any boy good enough for her?

He barely even knew her. Why was she consuming his every thought?

John closed his book and shoved it in his black backpack, the third pocket down where he always kept whatever he was currently reading (because, of course, he was a man of pure tidiness). He slung the backpack around his left shoulder, grabbed his drink, and left Mancini's.

He could only hope Rose wouldn't notice how early he had left. Perhaps she would just assume that he had had somewhere to go.

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><p>Six weeks later the pattern had, surprisingly, changed.<p>

It was October 14th, not too far away from Halloween.

It was approximately 6:03 in the afternoon, and the coffee shop was dismal. Rose with the curly 'e' was absent from her usual table. Instead sitting there was an elderly Chinese woman and her two (he assumed) grandchildren who were intrigued with some sort of action figure.

He wondered if Rose had siblings. He added that onto his surging 'ponder on later' list.

Four days later and there was still no sign of Rose. Where was she? Never in two years had she missed five days in a row like this. Occasionally, of course, there had been days where one of them hadn't shown up. They did have lives, after all. But five days in a row?... Unheard of.

He knew he was being stupid. Perhaps putting his thoughts in something he was better at comprehending would help him understand just how stupid he was being. A list always helped.

1) He barely knew her. Jesus, he was such a stalker.

2) She was probably sick or something. Something was going around _his_ school, why not her school too?

3) She could have found a new coffee shop. She could have never even noticed that he sat at the table next to her every day.

4) Maybe she moved. That was one thing he didn't even _want_ to consider.

5) Something could have happened to her.

6) Maybe she was doing her homework at home instead of buying an overly priced drink and doing it in a noisy, crowded place like Mancini's. That was definitely possible.

Was it wrong for him to pray that it wasn't any of the options besides number two? Sick wouldn't be so bad. At least she would be back soon.

Another fantasy drifted into his stupid, spastic mind:

_Rose with the curly 'e' woke up next to him in bed. He kissed her as she awoke slowly, despite her argument that her morning breath was awful and kissing her would probably be awful. He simply laughed at that and kissed her neck instead, nipping lightly at her clavicle, but nowhere near hard enough to leave a mark._

_How could she not understand that kissing her would always be perfect?_

_He wrapped his arms around her back and groped her bum, making her squeal endearingly. Then, she reached down and took his-_

Perhaps right now was not the time to have this fantasy.

Or any time. God, he was just so creepy. This girl didn't even know he existed and here he was obsessing over her.

After finishing his homework, which felt as though it took longer than it normally did (even though he had half his usual workload) he went home.

It was raining.

He walked towards his flat with no umbrella, his normally spiky and (if he did say so himself) flawless hair without-volume and dreary. John groaned, he had spent so much time on it this morning, and felt relieved when his flat was in sight.

There was a giggle, and he turned his head.

It wasn't too far away. Underneath the awning of a somewhat ghetto (even though John himself definitely wasn't high class) pub called Tiffany's was Rose with the curly 'e'. Along with another figure.

Squinting through the rain he could make out that it was a boy. That was obvious. Rose was giggling at whatever he had said, rather loudly.

It was none of his business. Of course it wasn't. Whatever she got up to in her spare time was her business.

But was this why she hadn't been at Mancini's the last few days? Was she busy with this… This…

The boy had short, black hair from and a big build from what he could see. He looked like a jock. Self-consciously, John looked in the reflection of the glass window next to him. He was practically the opposite of Rose's possible boyfriend.

John was tall and lanky with the (formerly mentioned, haven't you been paying attention?) _amazing_ hair, but he had no muscular build like that guy. That guy needed a name.

For some reason, the name Bufus seemed to fit him.

Bufus wrapped his beefy arms around Rose slowly and he kissed her roughly on the mouth. Rose got up on her tippy toes to kiss him back. John watched, petrified, as Bufus spun Rose around without warning and practically slammed her into the red brick wall next to them, kissing her harder still.

He could hear Rose's squeak of pain from where he was standing, and he wanted nothing more than to throw Bufus off of her and throw him into the rainy streets where he could possibly get hit by a car. Or even a bus. A bus would be nice.

John wanted to be the hero. However, he realized that Bufus could probably beat him up with the simple flick of his wrist. Besides, Rose must be comfortable with the guy if she was thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

Rose pushed on Bufus's chest with both of her tiny palms, and John was guessing it was to get him to stop. But it was only after another ten seconds of rough, rhythm-less kissing that Bufus finally pulled away.

Rose said something to Bufus, not smiling at all. In fact, she looked somewhat distressed.

Bufus straightened up his chest noticeably and said something back to her in a firm deep tone (John was _really_ starting to abhor this guy) that John could hear, even though the words were incomprehensible. He thought he caught the word 'Ridiculous', but he wasn't one hundred percent sure.

Rose with the curly 'e' mumbled something that looked like an apology before grabbing Bufus's hand and allowing him to drag her down an alleyway close to them.

That alleyway was notorious in this neighborhood. And not for good things like finger painting or slow dancing. Though, it was notorious for a _type_ of dancing.

John shuddered, whether from the cold and the rain or the thought he wasn't sure.

He considered going after them for one brief second, since he knew Rose was obviously uncomfortable with Bufus and he wasn't treating her well… But then again… Maybe she liked it rough? Maybe it was some sort of kink? Like a previously agreed on act of BDSM or something? Maybe he was completely misreading this whole situation?

John went inside before the rain could soak through every page in every book in his bag.

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><p>The following afternoon, after a day of difficult classes and thoughts consumed by school, the new episode of "The Walking Dead" that was on in only a couple of days (God, he prayed the Governor would finally die), and Rose with a curly 'e', he was back at Mancini's, as usual.<p>

He pulled out his laptop – he had an essay to write today – but looked at the door every five minutes for her appearance.

It was 6:15 when she walked inside.

Was it bad that he had let out a sigh of relief?

Probably.

He continued to type his essay, barely even noticing her presence. In reality, he was retyping the paragraph he had already written because there was no way he could focus on what he was doing while she was talking.

She smiled but it looked fake this time, unlike her usual brightness. The man behind the counter said something (supposedly humorous given his expression) and Rose simply gave him a kind smile.

She normally laughed.

John loved it when she laughed.

Her drink was the same, though. The 'e' was curly, no surprise there, and he could smell the caramel from his table. Well, it was a coffee shop; it probably wasn't just _her_ drink he smelled.

But that was beside the point.

Rose sat down and pulled out her bag. She produced a blue folder from it and opened it, rubbing at her forehead when she saw the papers inside.

She was wearing a blue semi-turtleneck (if it could be called that, it went part way up her neck, but it definitely wasn't a full out turtle-neck… Was there a name for that? That was now number three on the 'ponder on later' list)today, something that somehow she could make sexy, along with skin-tight black leggings. There was a golden bracelet around her left wrist and a pendant around her neck.

The jewelry matched.

Rose scrambled to pull the papers out of her folder, and when she did she laid them out on the table neatly. There were seven piles.

Probably one for each class that she had, plus an elective and minus study hall.

Rose pulled out a pencil from her backpack and placed it down on the table, her eyes scanning each paper as if she didn't even know where to start.

Then he heard the opening notes to "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey and new that her phone was ringing.

He loved that song, too. Well, maybe he just loved it a little more because it had been her ringtone for years. Or a lot more. Or to the point where he was considering getting a Journey DVD in case they ever became friends and she came to his house.

She picked up the phone and looked up. John quickly darted his eyes back to his computer screen, focusing more on what she was saying than his actual essay.

He was creepy. He could admit it. Normal people didn't mesmerize themselves with people they didn't know. Normal people didn't listen to other people's phone calls, absolutely enthralled in them.

"Hi Jimmy," she said in a cheery voice. Her voice was cheery, but her face had more of an exasperated expression. "Yeah. I'm at Mancini's. No, don't come, I'm doing homework." Rose with the curly 'e' paused. "Seriously. I am so far behind in school. Yeah, I did have fun yesterday. But again?... That's a bit extensive."

She made an absolutely annoyed face, looking as if she wanted to slam her phone against the nearest wall and sacrifice the ashes to some sort of cellular communication god by burning them.

"Jimmy, please. I'm so far behind on school." There was another pause. "Drop out? Me? You know Mum would kill me." Pause number three. Definitely not a good sign. "I can't just drop out of high school based off of some… Some sort of aspiration that your band will take off. I know, I'm not saying it won't…" Her expression turned fearful. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I really didn't mean that at all. That was stupid of me to suggest. I'll consider it, okay? Just… Please don't come to Mancini's right now, though. I need a bit of a break."

John saw her features turn relaxed. "Okay Jimmy, bye. Wait, one more thing, do you know anyone good at Chemistry? I know Shareen dropped out of it, so… No? Okay, bye… Love you too."

Rose hung up her phone and shoved it into her back. She took a sip of her drink and her eyes darted around the coffee shop.

Now was his chance.

Now was his bloody chance.

He had to take it. He _HAD_ to. He didn't think he'd ever forgive himself if he didn't take his shot right here, right now.

He was good at Chemistry. He had taken AP Chemistry two years ago, in fact, and the teacher had called him a bloody prodigy. Perhaps not with the same vulgar language, but nevertheless, he was good at Chemistry. And perhaps helping Rose Tyler would make his Chemistry skills spark to a thousand, since he felt like he could fly when he watched her smile.

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><p><strong>AN:** Did you hate it or love it? Hopefully you could even tell that I used a new style. :P Please leave a review and tell me what you think! (It can be negative. I can take it. *cries*).


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I know I should be writing some other stories *coughs loudly* The Cupid Bite but I'm a little busy this week (homecoming yay) and already had this typed up soooo. :) Hope you enjoy it anyways! Thanks to all those who reviewed on the previous chapter! :D

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><p>Not one hundred percent sure what he was doing, he stood up and slung his bag around one shoulder in a way that he hoped make him look cool. "Hey," he said to her somewhat awkwardly.<p>

Rose with the curly 'e' looked up at him and her eyebrows shot to her hairline. It was evident that she was a little confused but not wanting to be rude or questioning. "Hi."

"I, uh, couldn't help but hear your conversation… You need someone good at Chemistry?"

_Damn it, John. That was the worst thing you could have said._

Her face broke out into a smile, then. Okay, maybe what he had said wasn't so bad after all. "Yeah, actually." She gestured to the papers on her table. "Well, more like I need someone who's good at _everything_."

He laughed far harder than he should have at her response, which was sort of a joke but not really a joke. Had she meant it as a joke?

Yet another thing for the 'ponder on later' list.

"Well let's see what you got," he said at last, taking the empty seat next to her and assuming he was invited.

"Don't forget your laptop," Rose pointed out, nodding her head towards the table he had previously been sitting at.

"Oh, thanks," he said, getting up and snatching it quickly before tugging it into his bag. He scanned Rose's homework.

Rose Tyler.

That was her full name. Rose Tyler.

She curled her 'y's and her 'e's. It was a sign of fate that the way her name was written on her coffee cup was similar to the way she wrote it herself.

When anagrammed, he calculated quickly in his head, her name made 'Leer Story'. Or 'Loser Trey'. Or 'Lose Terry'. Or about a thousand other things that made much less sense.

And their names together… John Smith and Rose Tyler… Well, the only thing he could think of on the spot was 'Either Shy Jolts Norm'.

But putting that awkward and insensible anagram to the side, he felt like their names fit together quite well in general. John and Rose. John Tyler. Rose Smith… He wasn't sure which he liked better. They both just fit so well.

"So you know any of this?" Rose asked him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He knew all of it. There was doubt in his mind. The math was simple, it was only Algebra Two, and Chemistry (as was previously mentioned) was his forte.

"Yeah, I think I know all of it," John said, trying not to sound too cocky or nerdy. He felt that that was more on the cocky side. That wasn't a bad thing, in his opinion. Better than nerdy.

Rose smiled and her tongue poked out of her teeth. "Great. Do you think you could help me? I don't want to pull you away from whatever you were doing, though."

A blind dude named Homer wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey, two famous Greek epics whose names were almost always used in the same sentence. John always hated how the two plays were used in the same sentence constantly. Even though the Odyssey was arguably a sequel to the Iliad, they were separate plays. Separate. They were not the same thing. There were even rumors by scholars that they were written by different or multiple men.

Anyways, there _was_ (believe it or not) a point to this thought, and he would get to it in a moment.

Helen of Troy, supposedly the most beautiful woman in the world, had been kidnapped by a man named Paris and had started the (debatably real, scholars argued about that too, along with pretty much everything else) Trojan War.

One of the most famous lines about Helen was that she had 'a face that launched a thousand ships'.

John had always found this line ludicrous, since there was no way some girl's beauty could start a bloody war. Well, it wasn't just her beauty… It involved countless other factors as well…

But that was beside the point.

Had he magically gained a thousand ships at his disposal, he would launch them without hesitation to for Rose Tyler's smile. Perhaps there was some truth to that line after all.

Then, he snapped out of his Homer and Rose induced thoughts and remembered that she had asked him a question, and that she probably now thought he was a total maniac for getting so lost in his thoughts. Which, if he was honest, was an often occurrence. "Yeah, sure, I can help. I wasn't doing anything major on my laptop anyways, don't worry."

That was a lie.

The essay was due tomorrow, it was supposed to be ten pages, but he only had two paragraphs. And they weren't even that good.

Doing some quick calculations in her head, if he helped Rose until ten (which was about how long it would take to complete all this homework, though he wasn't sure if she was going to want to stay that long so it was a bit of a flexible variable) then he would have to stay up until about two in the morning to do his essay.

Well, good thing he didn't sleep much anyways.

"What do you want to start with? Math?" he asked.

Rose nodded. "I'm so bad at Algebra it's ridiculous. The teacher always goes fast and it feels like everyone in the class gets it but me. It's not even supposed to be hard."

He couldn't say he knew that feeling, but he felt a stab of pity for her. That must be awful. He frowned at her; "Well I'll have you being the smartest kid in the class in a couple of days."

"It might not even matter," she huffed, "I'm considering dropping out of school anyways."

John wasn't sure why she was telling him this. Of course, he had just heard her talking on the phone about it to some guy named Jimmy, but the fact that she had just said she was _considering_ it?...

That Jimmy guy must be pretty influential in her life.

"Why would you do that?" he asked, the question coming out much ruder than he had intended.

She shrugged insecurely. "I dunno. I'm no good at school, I guess. Besides, my boyfriend Jimmy has a band and he says he's gonna get famous."

"He says that?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Another uncommitted shrug. She sipped her drink. "I say that school is awful for me. It's a little stressful. And he says I should quit it. If he does make it big, we could live really well."

Her argument wasn't very compelling to say the least.

He decided to stray back onto topic, despite the fact that he wanted to continue this conversation and tell her that she should most definitely stay in school. "Well let's start with Algebra. I got an A in that class."

"What grade are you in? God, wait, I'm sorry… I haven't even asked you your name… It's John though, right?" Rose stammered.

She knew his name. Rose Tyler with the curly 'e' and the newly discovered curly 'y' knew his name. His actual name. She hadn't said Jonothan or Johnny or Josh or anything like so many other people did.

John.

She had called him John.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" he asked, flashing her what he hoped was a devilishly disarming smile.

Rose laughed.

He wanted that sound to be his ringtone and his alarm and if he had to only hear one sound for the rest of his life, he wouldn't hesitate to pick her laugh.

God, she was beautiful.

"I've seen you every school day for years. Are you surprised I noticed Jake calling your name before?"

"Jake?"

"The guy behind the bar," Rose answered. "You've been going here for years and you never bothered to look at his name tag?"

John shrugged.

What he wanted to say was the truth. He wanted to say that he had never paid attention to the kind man behind the bar because he was too excited to see her every day. He had never paid attention to him because there was someone else he was paying attention to.

Instead, what he said was "Guess not. I'm a bit rude, I suppose. I did notice your name though, Rose."

She did that smile again, the one with the tongue.

It should be outlawed in most countries. That smile could kill a man.

It'd probably kill him if he didn't get them focused on schoolwork. He slid a paper towards himself. "So absolute value functions, huh?"

"Yup," Rose said, popping the 'p'.

He did that too, sometimes. Popping the 'p' in his words. They were meant to be.

They worked together for an hour on Algebra 2. He discovered that she had no idea whatsoever what she was doing. John practically had to reteach her all of Algebra 1.

But he'd like to think that she had fun. Even if it was _math, _possibly the least fun thing in the world.

Every once and a while he would make a bad pun or a stupid joke, one that would have made Donna cringe, but Rose always laughed. Always. No matter how stupid the joke, or even if he was pretty sure she hadn't really understood it.

And when he rambled, which he tended to do because he spoke the way he thought (sporadically), she always listened surprisingly intently.

When their hands had brushed one another while they were floating over a piece of paper in front of them, he had felt every nerve ending in his body catch on fire and explode at the same time.

He wondered if she felt the same way.

They finished the Algebra 2 surprisingly fast, however. He realized that as soon as she understood material, she _understood_ it. If anything, it just seemed like she needed a different type of teaching style.

And, _god,_ was he happy to be her teacher.

A small part of him had been scared Rose with the curly 'e' wouldn't be as amazing as his thoughts had depicted her. But, no, she was better.

Life just wasn't fair, was it?

It would be so much easier if she were awful. It would be easier if he could just confirm that she had an awful personality, or was rude, or stupid. But she was none of the above. If anything, she was one of the kindest people he had ever met, sweet, and absolutely brilliant (with the right tutor, of course).

They did science next. She was far better at that.

Then English. Easy peasy. Her creativity was incredible. Far better than his, even though (not to brag) he had been called a child prodigy in English since he was ten.

Government. A bit iffy, but there was definitely enough there to work with. That took them the longest time.

Next up was French. Rose pushed the paper towards him. "See if you can do anything with this?" she said teasingly, obviously not expecting any response from him.

But, to hell with it, what was the point of being a genius if not to show off every once and a while?

"Je parle en fait couramment le français . J'aime les bananes dans mes crêpes," he said easily, shrugging shyly.

Rose blinked. "You speak French?"

"Just a bit."

"I'm in my fifth year of it, and that was a thousand times better than I could have done. Oh my god. Is there anything you're not good at?"

He blushed bright pink. Normally if someone said that to him he would reply with some boastful answer, something to make him seem even smarter. But with Rose Tyler with the curly 'e' and (the new addition) 'y', he felt something different.

It felt more like a need to impress her. No, better phrasing would be to make her happy. And it felt far less like his usual need to bring himself up.

"I'm rubbish at Latin," he admitted. "Been taking it for two years… I'm just awful. Seriously, the Romans had no idea what they were doing when they made their language."

"You don't take French?" Rose asked. "Then how do you know it?"

"Spare time," he explained.

John inwardly cringed. Spare time? Really? That was the best answer he had?

God, now he sounded like such a nerd. And why would a beautiful, flawless girl like that want to hang out with a nerd? Especially when she had every option in the world (probably… Did she? Was she popular at her school? His 'ponder on later' list was getting too long for him to memorize at this point).

"You learn French in your spare time?" Rose said teasingly, her voice cracking at the end as she laughed. Though, it didn't quite sound like she was laughing _at_ him. It sounded more like she was laughing at the absurdity.

He hoped he was right.

"John, you are the most interesting bloke I've ever met."

The most interesting bloke she's ever met?

The most interesting bloke she's ever met.

He had to break that sentence down to comprehend it.

Out of every boy she had ever met, assuming she would meet about fifteen to seventeen thousand people in her lifetime, and around half of them were male, she would meet (about, there were a _ton_ of variables) eight thousand men in her life time.

She was probably about seventeen years old since she was in the eleventh grade. Or eighteen.

If the average life span was ninety years old, then she had spent a bit less than 2/9 of her life already… Now… If he just made a simple proportion…

She had met about one thousand eight hundred men so far in her life. Of course, that was off by a lot, due to all the variables…

Perhaps he was getting a tad bit too involved in this thought.

Anyways, semantics aside, he felt rather accomplished with himself.

"You're an expert in like, everything," she said in a tone that was both admiring and envious at the same time.

"Just call me Doctor," he said with a wink that he prayed to every god he didn't believe in wasn't super awkward and weird.

It probably was. But she thought he was interesting. So who cared?

"Okay," Rose replied to his surprise, a challenge in her eyes. "Care to help me with French, Doctor?"

He swallowed. This conversation had gone from being innocent and cute to causing the blood in his veins to rush to places that he really didn't want it to be rushing too right now. He readjusted the way he was sitting for the maximum cover and hoped she wouldn't read into it.

"Yup," he said, his voice an octave too high. He cleared his throat. "Yep, I am. Ready for French, I mean. Allons-y!"

Rose frowned. "What does that mean? Alan sea?"

"Allons-y," he pronounced slower, writing it on a nearby piece of scrap paper.

He curled his 'y' just a bit. He hoped she would notice.

"It means let's go in French," John explained to her. "There's your first lesson."

She giggled at that, adorably. "I like that."

"The word?"

"The way you say it. You have a nice way of saying it."

Well, that was a strange compliment. He was certainly willing to take it, though.

He would leave himself a note later to say allons-y at every possible fitting moment around Rose Tyler.

"Thanks, I think," he replied with a grin to let her know that he wasn't uncomfortable.

She scooted her chair closer to him and rested her hand on his forearm, guiding his hand to another paper. "So this was my homework… I haven't even started on it, and it's like three pages long. Does it look hard?"

"Nah, we'll fly through it."

They did.

Well, it took longer than it should have because of the fact that they kept laughing and flirting with each other. He hoped it was flirting. God, it was flirting, right?

He'd have to call Donna later and ask her about that. How was he supposed to know if Rose was flirting or not? Why didn't humans have bright neon signs that showed what they were thinking or feeling?

Life would be easier.

When they finished with French, there was one stack of papers left on the table with a pink composition notebook on top.

It was dark outside, the moon was shining (it was full, for some reason that made his gleeful mood even gleefuler. That wasn't a word. Whatever.) and stars were just beginning to become visible. It was about ten at night. Normally they would both be leaving for home right now.

Instead, he was eyeing the notebook on the table. "What class is that for?"

She grabbed the notebook and the papers and stuffed them into his backpack quickly without letting him see them. "It's nothing."

He frowned. "Your elective, yeah? What do you take?"

John had never been a man to know when to let something drop. That was probably due to his seemingly never ending curiosity as a child.

"I can do it at home," she claimed, blushing a faint pink. "It's kind of stupid. honestly."

He rubbed at his sideburn. She looked embarrassed. "I doubt it's stupid."

Rose gave him a small smile and opened her backpack back up, letting out a small, reluctant sigh. He was about to tell her that she didn't _have_ to show him if she didn't want to, after all privacy was privacy. She handed him the notebook, allowing him to look through it.

"I take Art Two. Started it last year. My teacher said I might get to skip up to Art Four next year and maybe get a scholarship but I don't think I'm going to take it next year anyways so, whatever." She tried to make it nonchalant.

His eyes met hers while his fingers opened the journal to the first page. The drawings were literally breathtaking. The first one was of a flower, and normally he would pass that off as some random class doodle, but this one… Every detail was exact. The shading was spot on, and a bead of water was falling from a purple petal.

"That's an Aster flower, right?"

"Aster amellus, yeah," she confirmed, looking a little more confident in herself. "I found it in a park nearby."

He looked up at her, trying to convey what he was thinking with his eyes. "Rose, this is beautiful. Every detail is exact. How did you do this?"

She blushed an even brighter pink and shrugged innocently. "Colored pencils?"

"Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head and flipping to the next page.

The quality did nothing but increase. Each drawing seemed to be better than the last, and some were even done in watercolors or plain paint. She painted people, places, but mostly flowers.

"You have a talent!" he exclaimed, staring at her and handing her the journal. "You're amazing!"

She rolled her eyes good-heartedly. "It's just a hobby. Jimmy says it won't get me anywhere."

He really didn't like the sound of this Jimmy bloke.

He opened his mouth to say something then thought better of his harsh words about Jimmy. "You should definitely think about taking up your art teacher on that art scholarship, Rose."

"How come?" she inquired, clutching the journal to her chest.

During their night together she had been toying with the collar of her blue skintight semi-turtleneck sweater. It was now low enough for him to see most of her neck, and he had simply assumed that she hadn't noticed how mussed up it looked.

He definitely hadn't been planning to tell her.

But now, as she reached up a few fingers to toy with the neck again, it fell down just far enough for her to see.

A fresh blue bruise forming on her clavicle.

"Because you'd be absolutely brilliant."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Longer chapter yay!

* * *

><p>"John, stop pacing the room and call the girl and ask her out already!" Donna's shrill voice shouted at him through the phone, and he felt as if she was right in front of him, whacking him on the arm while she spoke.<p>

John stopped pacing his bedroom and pressed the phone closer to his ear. "How did you know I was pacing?"

He heard her sigh from the other end of the phone. "Because I know you. And you're a pacing enthusiast."

He ignored that. "But she's amazing, Donna! She's funny and smart and pretty and…"

"I've been briefed on all of this already," Donna complained.

"She's out of my league," he said, resuming his pacing and running a hand through his already tousled hair.

His room was rather small, compared to what he imagined most teenagers' bedrooms would look like. The desk: a complete mess of scattered, useless objects, all except the small index card with Rose's name and phone number on it which she had given him a few months before, which was all but useless. The bed: dark blue with sheets thrown about on it and papers and CDs and other bits and bobs on top of it, piling up due to days of him not sleeping in it. And, last but not least, the floor, clothes and shoes and pillows and empty bottles of various brands placed randomly about.

All in all, he was a bit of a slob, and wasn't really ashamed to be so.

"But, and listen to me John, really listen to me, this girl likes you. For whatever reason, she likes you. Maybe she got hit on the head really hard or you did some sort of hypnosis-"

"Thanks, Donna."

"-But she likes you! That's what matters. So don't screw yourself over by never making a move and ask her out."

"She has a boyfriend," he groaned, recalling Jimmy Stone.

Donna gasped into the phone. "Why didn't you tell me that first?!"

"Because I knew you'd say I had no chance," he complained.

"If she has a boyfriend then you can't ask her out," Donna pointed out.

"I get that, it's just, her boyfriend is trying to make her drop out of school and, well, he… He hurts her, I think. I think he hits her," John blurted out, collapsing on his bed and causing papers to fly up all about. "I've seen bruises over the past few months, when we work together."

"Oh god," Donna replied, "that's awful."

"I know."

He could practically hear the cogs in her head winding and working and spinning. "So, what, then? Has she complained to you about her boyfriend yet?"

"Not really," he admitted. "They argue a lot, but she never seems really happy or sad about him."

"Well, just be there for her if she ever chooses to talk to you. And, maybe, one day, they'll break up and she'll be interested in you. Just be friends with her."

John groaned into his pillow. "You're right. Of course you're right. God, Donna, I really like her. A lot."

"I can kind of tell," Donna said. "This isn't another Reinette situation is it?"

He blushed slightly, recalling that awful event. "No, nothing like that. This girl is _actually_ amazing."

"Well, I've got homework to do, spaceman, and I think you have a coffee shop to get to. It's ten to six."

He shot up to his knees. "Oh, bloody hell."

He hung up on Donna and sprinted to the bathroom in an attempt to make himself presentable. He styled his hair in his normal tousled-but-artfully-so way, grabbed his backpack and ran out the door as fast as his long legs would carry him. John apologized as he bumped into people on the street and made it to Mancini's in record time.

"Hey, Rose," he said casually as he sat down next to her, wondering just how she managed to become more beautiful every day.

Today she was wearing a blue and purple dress with a design that made it look as if it had been plucked from space and sewn onto fabric. Her blonde hair was braided in the back with a few strands poking out as if it had been in that way for a long time. She was wearing a beautiful, soft black scarf that he had seen her wear before, and he knew that underneath the scarf were several bruises that she was hiding.

He wanted to tear Jimmy Stone apart, despite never having really met him.

"Hey Doctor," Rose replied teasingly, poking her tongue out of her smiling mouth.

She had called him that almost every day since they had started talking. The nickname sent butterflies flying as though they had taken ten Monster Energy drinks too many throughout his stomach. "How was your French test?"

She shrugged. "How do you say so-so in French?"

"I think that would be si-si."

"Si-si," Rose said, making a gesture with her hand.

He smiled brightly at her and pulled his laptop out of his backpack. "I have to write an essay for English."

"Prompt?" she asked, leaning her head on her hands and staring up at him through her lashes.

He could never focus on anything when she did that.

His mind floated off into fantasies about kissing her now, and the aftermath of doing so. Then he imagined Jimmy Stone walking in and punching him in the jaw and the fantasy turned from Nicholas-Sparks-cute to Steven-Spielberg-action.

"Oh, it's something about a person I care about, I think," he replied, grabbing his English binder out of his backpack and opening it up to the page with the prompt. "Yeah, 'Talk about a person you care about and why they're important to you', it only has to be like a page long, though. And it's double spaced, so not so bad I guess."

She began sorting through papers in her French binder. "Who are you gonna write about?"

"No idea yet," he complained.

"You could write about me," she offered, still not looking at him.

His heart beat faster in his chest and he felt that somehow she was able to notice. "About you?"

Rose looked up at him, then, a brilliant smile on her lips and a look of adoration in his eyes that made him want to kiss her and fling himself out the window at the same time. "Yeah, why not? I mean, you could write about Donna, too. Or maybe your family."

He felt himself tense up at the word family, but immediately forced himself to fake a smile and act normal. "Yeah, I don't think Donna would appreciate it immensely."

Rose laughed, "Yeah, from what you've told me about her, she wouldn't. Well, she might be touched on the inside, though. I would be touched."

"Would you now?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Guess I'll just have to write about you and touch you."

Rose blushed slightly and he realized the obvious double meaning behind his words. "Um, I didn't mean it like that!" he covered lamely. "Sorry. I don't think, er, I don't before I speak."

She laughed uncontrollably at him, then, and he felt himself joining in after only a few moments. Her hand moved to rest on his arm and as soon as he opened her eyes he realized she was closer to him than she had been a moment ago.

"Well, you can write about me for _now,_" she said, pointing a finger at him. "But we'll save the touching for later."

He knew she was teasing, of course she was teasing, but he felt himself turn scarlet anyways. "Sounds like a deal, Rose Tyler," he replied teasingly, rolling the 'r's in her name.

"Want to do my French homework for me?" she asked, pushing the papers towards him.

"As if," he replied, pushing them back towards her. "You know how to do all this."

Rose fake pouted and took a pencil out of her backpack, beginning by writing her name on her work. Her lower lip was extended and he had to tear his eyes away from her so that he could focus on something else. "I have chemistry, too, I think. No Algebra homework, though."

Then, "Don't Stop Believing" rang throughout the store at a loud volume and Rose hissed, taking the phone out of her pocket and lowering the volume significantly. "Sorry," she mumbled to the people staring at her. She raised the phone to her ear. "Hello? Oh, hey Jimmy."

Jimmy.

God, John hated that guy. It wasn't a pity jealousy type thing, it was just pure hatred.

Rose gave him an apologetic smile and stood up to take the call. He heard her arguing with Jimmy, her hands making angry motions. John wasn't sure he could watch, albeit listen.

"I'm busy right now!" Rose insisted, her eyes falling shut. "No. Right. Yeah, tomorrow is fine. Saturdays in general are fine, but right now I have homework… Jimmy, I'm not with anyone right now." Apparently he said something surprising, then, because Rose's eyes flew open and she pressed the phone harder to her ear.

She marched out of Mancini's, then, and John wasn't sure how long it would be until she got back. He resolved to finish his essay later and put his laptop away, taking out his AP Biology binder and working on homework for that class instead.

He was brushing up on the anatomy and complex workings of ribosomes as Rose sat down next to him, burying her head in her hands. "I'm sorry," she said in a muffled voice. "Jimmy is making me go to a party with him tonight, and I've gotta go get ready."

John looked at her with concern. "He's making you?"

"It's not a big deal, really," Rose insisted, shoving her French stuff into her binder and getting ready to leave. "My French teacher won't be surprised that I didn't do the homework, and the Chem isn't due for another couple of days."

"Rose," John said warningly.

"I'm serious! It's nothing."

She slung her backpack around her shoulder. "I'll try to leave the party early. Will you be here later?"

He shrugged.

If there was a chance of her returning, he thought, then of course he would be here. Then again, he had a good bit of homework, so he probably would be here either way.

"Yeah, probably," he mused.

"I might be back," she stated.

* * *

><p>She wasn't back.<p>

It was around nine at night when John packed his stuff into his bag and stepped out the door to Mancini's, noting a little wave and smile from Jake behind the counter who rarely waved at him but always waved at Rose. John smiled and waved back.

The door jingled as he left and the brisk London air had him tugging his black coat further around himself. He was walking down the road when he saw Rose walking towards him. John squinted his eyebrows to get a better look at her in the darkness.

She walked up to him and he could see her eyes were red and puffy. "Rose?" he asked in a quiet voice, wondering why she had been crying.

"John," she said in a choked voice before she proceeded to hug him and bury her face in his shoulder.

John wrapped his arms around her, confused but beginning to piece together the pieces in his head. Party with Jimmy, Rose crying. It was simple math, really. "Rose, what's wrong?" he mumbled against her hair.

"Look, I just…" she let out a deep sigh and pulled away, shaking her head. "I don't know what to do," she blurted, running a trembling hand through her hair. "I don't know what to do, oh god."

"Rose, talk to me," John pleaded.

"I can't go home," she stated. "My mum would kill me."

She licked her lips and he noted the tiny cut on her upper lip. He needed no more explanation. "You can come to my flat," he insisted.

Rose frowned. "Aren't your parents home?"

"Don't have them," he replied simply. She gave him a curious look before it disappeared. "Come on."

"I can't," she complained. "I can't bother you like that."

John shook his head. "Not at all a bother. Come on, you're coming home with me."

They walked together in the silence and Rose pulled her phone out of her pocket, and he could see that she was texting her mother. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her quietly.

She bit her lower lip and shook her head. "I'm so sorry. About all of this. God, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he insisted. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

They walked in silence until they reached his flat. Occasionally he heard Rose sniffle or mumble a 'thank you' when he held the door open for her, but other than that she was the epitome of silence.

"You can have my bed," John stated, entering his bedroom and sweeping off the items on top of it. "I'll take the couch."

Rose shook her head. "No, that's okay. I'm fine with the couch."

She was looking around his flat and he wished more than anything he could hear what she was thinking. Her eyes darted from his kitchen to his living room to the bedroom door. It was a small flat, yes, but he liked to think it was cozy.

He scoffed. "As if I'd let you take the couch. Don't worry about it. And get out your French homework, I can complete it really fast while you sleep."

"It wouldn't be my handwriting."

"Don't ask me how I learned to forge handwriting, but I'm a master at it," he insisted with a grin.

The corners of her mouth turned upwards slightly.

"Was that a smile?" he asked, watching as she sat down at the kitchen table.

"No," Rose replied, her smile increasing. She pursed her lips in an attempt to hide it.

"That was a smile. You smiled!" he said happily, sitting down next to her and poking her in the side teasingly.

"No I didn't," Rose said, full out grinning now.

He pulled her in for another hug, which she gladly accepted. "If you want," he offered, "you can shower. I have some women's pajamas somewhere, I think. For Donna, of course. She stays here sometimes. Not me."

Rose laughed again and he gave himself a mental pat on the back for making her feel better already. The overwhelming urge to crush whatever had made her sad in the first place came back, and he found himself having to consciously control his breathing so that he wouldn't implode.

"You're a good friend," Rose said with a small smile. "A really good friend."

He kissed her on the crown of her head and rubbed her back soothingly with one hand. "The bathroom is the first door on the left in the hall. My bedroom is the door on the end of the hall if you need anything. I'll go find Donna's clothes."

John stood up and walked over to his bedroom closet, digging through drawer after drawer until he found a pair of Donna's pajamas, long sleeved with a regular pink striped pattern. These would surely do.

He brought them to the bathroom, outside which Rose was standing with her hands clutching the black scarf around her neck. She gave him a small smile and accepted the pajamas before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

John went to his bedroom and sat down on the bed, running a hand through his hair and making a quick decision before getting up to find Rose's bag. He grabbed her French binder without looking at any other contents and set it down on his kitchen table. Then, he heard "Don't Stop Believing" and looked at the bag to see her phone vibrating wildly in the side pocket.

Always the curious one, he peeked the phone out of the pocket and saw it was Jimmy Stone calling.

A fantasy played out in his mind:

_John picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"_

_"__Who the hell are you?" a gruff voice said on the other end of the line. "Where's Rose?"_

_"__She's with me. I take it you're Jimmy?" John asked, sitting down at the table and holding the phone in a death grip. He could hear the sound of the shower running in the background._

_Jimmy laughed. "That's me. Now, again, who are you?"_

_"__John Smith," John replied. "And don't call this number again. I'm not going to let you hurt Rose anymore."_

_"__She's my girlfriend," Jimmy said insistently. John could hear a bit of desperation in his voice. "Not yours. So give her the phone, yeah?"_

_"__She's in the shower," John explained, "probably washing the bruises and cuts you gave her. So get out of her life. Have you got that?"_

_Without waiting for an answer, John hung up the phone. As soon as Rose got out of the shower he told her what had happened and she flung her arms around him joyfully, glad to be free of that stupid, arrogant Jimmy Stone. Rose kissed him on the lips, then, and he grinned against her as the phone rang again. She stayed in school and went to university and had a successful life, and afterwards they got married and had four children. Two boys and two girls._

* * *

><p>However, he did none of that. Instead, he shoved the phone back into the backpack's pocket and let it ring. Then, he took out her French homework and set to work, copying her handwriting perfectly down to each curly 'e'.<p>

When he was complete, he organized the papers into a neat pile and smiled proudly at his work. Then, he heard Rose clearing her throat behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, looking utterly adorable in the too-big pajamas and waving at him with one long sleeve. "They're a bit big," she blushed, looking down at herself.

When John's mother and father had been alive, they had been madly in love.

It was obvious to anyone, from just looking at them. They were constantly stealing glances and innocent touches at one another.

Completely, irrevocably, irreversibly in love.

And, when John had been a little boy, his father had once told him that his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world.

John, being a studious and realistic-thinking child, had frowned at his father in thought. How could his mother be the most beautiful woman in the world? Yes, of course she was_ pretty _with her short brown hair and her large brown eyes that looked just like his own and smooth skin, but out of all the women in the world?

Out of all the women on the cover of magazines, on television shows and movies and interviews and newspapers?

John thought that was ridiculous, there was no way his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. At least, he thought it was a ridiculous notion until he himself met the most beautiful woman in the world.

That was essentially how he saw Rose. Models and celebrities didn't begin to compare to her, standing there in those too-big pajamas.

"Comfy, though?" he asked, standing up and staring at her in pure adoration.

She nodded. "Yeah. Comfy."

Her hair was wet from the shower and was clinging to her neck. A drop of water rolled down her temple and she wiped at it absent-mindedly with her index finger.

Her neck was completely visible and the lack of makeup covering her made the damage Jimmy had done completely blatant. Her upper lip was split, as he had noticed earlier, and one of her cheeks was far redder than the other, probably indicating he had slapped her once or twice.

A large bruise on her neck was bright purple and the others were fading, darker colors. Red hickeys covered her pulse point and went all the way up to behind her ears. He thought he could see the evidence of teeth in one or two places and he had to hold back a shudder.

"Does it look bad?" she asked nervously, noticing his staring.

"No, it's just…" He took a step towards her. Unsure of what he was doing, he moved his fingers tenderly to her neck and ran them along the bruise in such a way that it wouldn't hurt. "Why did he do this? Do you want to talk about it?"

He had asked that question earlier and she had said no. This time, however, she didn't nod or shake her head. She just sighed and started speaking. "He wanted me to do some drugs at the party. Nothing hardcore, nothing I hadn't done before, but I didn't want to."

"What drugs?"

Rose shrugged. "Just weed, I think. They had other stuff there but he wanted me to do the weed. He said…"

He tried to picture Rose doing drugs, since she had just admitted she had before. He genuinely couldn't imagine it. "Oh."

"I never did a lot," she confessed as if reading his thoughts. "He asked me to at another party one time. I was kind of drunk so I said yes."

He nodded, taking in the information. He tried to imagine her drunk. That was a little bit easier. "Why don't you break up with him?" he asked quietly.

She licked her lips. "I don't know. I used to think that I loved him. I don't know, anymore. I guess… Yeah, I just don't know." She blinked and he could see tears forming in her eyes and threatening to fall. "I don't know," she repeated, her voice cracking.

John hugged her again and whispered comforting noises against her hair, attempting to shush her now messy sobs. Her face pressed into his shoulder and he rubbed a hand up and down her back. "Hey, Rose, it's okay. You're okay. I'm here, yeah? It'll all be okay."

"He asked me out and everyone had been telling me I should date him," she cried. "And he was popular and sexy and I couldn't really say no. And it was good, it was so good for a while."

"What happened?"

She shrugged. "He started getting aggressive. Mickey, my ex, now my friend… Jimmy threatened to hurt me if I talked to Mickey," she explained. "And at first I thought he was just being protective and it was all okay, but then I couldn't even talk to other men…"

"Does he know that we're friends?" John asked.

Rose shook her head. "I always tell him I'm alone. And things just got worse from there; he started getting angry over stupid things. Now he wants me to do stupid things."

"Break up with him," John pleaded. "Don't let him control you anymore."

She made a frustrated noise. "I need to think about this in the morning." She glanced at the clock. "It's already ten." Rose walked over to her bag and pulled her phone out. "A missed call from Jimmy. Should I call him back?"

John snatched the phone out of her hand and put it on the table, shaking his head. "Not in a million years. You think he deserves that?"

"He's probably angry," Rose mused, not directly answering his question. "I walked out on him… God, of course he's angry."

John ran his hand up and down her arm. "He won't hurt you."

"Yeah, okay," Rose said, sounding unconvinced.

"I promise," he said in a more confident voice, unsurprised that Rose didn't believe him. Hell, he didn't even fully believe himself.

Rose glanced over at the table and frowned. "You did my French homework?"

"You know how to do it, so it's not cheating," he insisted, not that he really would care if he had cheated. "Just get to bed, yeah? You need rest."

Rose hugged him again and he realized he was starting to like this constant hugging thing. He snapped his mind off of that train of thought. Him thinking about her like that was the last thing she needed right now. But, dammit, she looked so kissable. She always looked so kissable. It wasn't fair, really.

He led Rose to the bedroom and made an awkward hand motion gesturing towards the room. "Sorry that it's messy," he said apologetically. "What time do you usually get up in the morning?"

"Eight."

"Good, my alarm clock is set for eight. I'll be right in the living room if you need anything, okay? Anything at all."

Rose nodded. "Thank you, Doctor." She got up on the balls of her feet and kissed him on the cheek, and he felt every last bit of logic and reasoning fly out of his mind. His thoughts went blissfully blank as she gave him one last toothy smile and shut the door quietly. His hand shot up to his face and his fingers floated over the spot she had kissed him.

Giddy, he walked into the living room and lay down on the couch with a huge smile on his face. "Rose Tyler kissed me," he mouthed slowly and silently, working out how the words felt on his tongue and wishing he could proceed to shout them to the world.

It hadn't been on the lips or anything remotely sexual like that, yet she might as well have just shagged him, he was so happy. He bounced up and down on the couch with delight before forcing his body to calm down so that he could watch some TV and then fall asleep. He turned on last week's episode of "The Walking Dead" to re-watch it, it was the season finale, and sipped some tea while a blanket rested over his legs.

* * *

><p>He woke up to the noise of shouting.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I actually found out that I have Bronchitis today, so I could use some nice reviews. xD Hope you liked this chapter! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Fluff and angst! My favorite combo!

* * *

><p>"Rose, shh, Rose, it's okay," John attempted to soothe her. He was sitting on the edge of his own bed, stroking Rose's hair with one hand and gripping her hand with the other. "It was a nightmare, you're okay."<p>

Her eyes were filled with tears and his heart broke at the sight. "John, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted. He placed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled her in for a tight hug. "Nothing at all."

Rose sniffled. "I woke you up."

"I don't care," he stated. "You're not going to school tomorrow, and neither am I. Do you hear me?"

"But you've gotta go to school," she protested weakly, clutching to him like he was an oasis in an eternal desert. He held her tighter. "Of course you've got to."

"No, I don't, and neither do you," he stated firmly, pulling away just enough so that he could look into her eyes. "Your well being comes before school as far as I'm aware. You can stay here and I'm going to take care of you tomorrow." He stole a glance at the clock. Two in the morning. "Er, today," he corrected.

When people speak about traumatic incidents, a recurring theme is them saying how incredibly quickly it happened.

Car accidents, the collision began and ended in half a second. Of course, that wasn't technically true, but that was what it felt like.

Fires – it was all started and over in an instant – John had first hand experience with fire himself. He could remember every detail, yet it all felt as thought it had happened so swiftly at the same time.

Natural disasters – that was a bit more of an exception. But, for example, a tornado hitting your house – that would go by rather quickly. Especially if you fell unconscious from being hit by debris.

That was beside the point.

When Rose Tyler wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gripped his suit tight, he felt as if it lasted a thousand hours.

But when she brought her head to his and kissed him hard on his lips, it felt like only a few milliseconds had gone by. And within those milliseconds, somewhere, was him grabbing her back and moving his lips against hers with a passion that had been building up within him since he had first seen her so long ago at the coffee shop. Within those milliseconds was the feeling of her tears touching his cheeks and her nose bumping against his, his own emotions blocking up his throat as they kissed.

Within those milliseconds there were no tongues involved, no hands wandering to dangerous places. There was simply them and the rest of the world was gone – Jimmy Stone, school, Mancini's, all the curly 'E's and 'Y's of the world had disappeared.

He could feel every bit of it, every sensation he was capable of feeling in those precious milliseconds. He felt her hands bunching up the fabric of his plain white T-shirt and her body shifting slightly against his as she struggled to get comfortable in the awkward position. He could smell cocoa and mint toothpaste that she had borrowed from his bathroom, he could smell the lavender-scented perfume that she kept in her backpack and had applied before bed. He could smell a little alcohol.

_Wait._

He had never been a particularly strong man – quite the opposite when it came to body type, in fact. He was skinny but muscular at the same time, or, as Donna often said, 'a skinny strip of nothing'.

However, when it came to self-discipline, he liked to think he was rather on the stronger side. He could force himself to do homework and other dull tasks that most people would simply procrastinate.

With remarkable strength and self-discipline, he pulled away from her, moving his hand that had been on her head to his lap and sighing, trying to catch his breath and stop his mind's incessant racing with fantasies that definitely weren't helping his face.

"John?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He knew that tone. It was rejection. God damn it. He'd have to explain this right. He knew he could, he had to believe that he could. He wasn't sure he could take it if she didn't understand.

"Rose, it's not that I don't want you," he hurried to explain. "It's not that I don't want this, just, not now. Okay?"

She sniffled again. "I'm sorry."

"No!" he said, shaking his head. "You did nothing wrong, nothing at all."

"Here I am," she announced, "a crying mess and I'm just throwing myself at you. God, you must think I'm such a-"

"No! No no no!" he insisted, wrapping her up in his arms. "Not at all, Rose. Not at all. Just, you drank, yeah? And you're probably exhausted and emotional and…"

"How did you know I drank?" Rose countered.

He licked his lips. They tasted like Rose. He took a moment to focus himself. "I could taste it, when we, er, snogged."

Rose blinked. "Oh."

John stared at her, squinting to see her expression in the light. "Do you want to try and get some sleep?"

Rose shut her eyes and let out a shudder. "I don't want to be alone," she admitted.

"I'll stay," he said. "I don't mind staying. I'll turn off the alarm, too, hang on." He leaned over and turned off the alarm on the alarm clock.

She was giving him a funny look.

He shook his head. "Nothing funny. Just sleeping, yeah? We can work out, the, er, funny stuff later. Tomorrow," he specified. "For now let's just rest?"

Rose nodded her head tightly, collapsing back down on the bed on her side.

John awkwardly lay next to her, unsure of exactly what it was he could do help her. He would spoon her if it weren't for, well… He looked downwards at himself.

Yep.

It was very, er, prominent, how he had reacted to that kiss. And if he knew himself at all, that boner wouldn't be going anywhere soon. Especially not while he was lying in his own bed with her at his side. Somehow his body thought this situation was erotic. Well, then again, his mind didn't exactly disagree.

He was also giddy. Giddy with the fact that he had just kissed Rose Tyler – no, Rose Tyler had just kissed _him._

The conflicting sadness, happiness, confusion, embarrassment, and fifty other emotions were giving him a headache. He rested one of his hands behind his head and splayed the other across his chest.

After a moment, Rose rolled over and faced him, her eyes wide open and staring. "John, talk to me."

Well, that was unexpected. What did she want to talk about? That incredible kiss? Well, he had quite a bit to talk about when it came to that incredible kiss. More than quite a bit, if he was honest. He could probably talk about it for the rest of his life and not get bored.

"About what?" he decided upon asking after a moment. He rolled onto his side, mimicking her position.

She bit her lip. "Anything. Your voice is nice."

_The way you say it. You have a nice way of saying it. _He remembered her saying that to him about Allons-y. The giddiness that had been at war with the other emotions was beginning to win out, despite his efforts to not be happy since this was most definitely not a happy situation.

"Tell me about your parents," she prompted quietly.

He stiffened, an instinctive reaction. He tensed up mentally, not allowing his brain to follow any sort of path of thought. Then, however, Rose was touching his arm and he focused in on that nice contact with ease. Her thumb was running tiny circles over the bottom of his right forearm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "shouldn't have asked. You don't have to."

"They died when I was young," he blurted out before he could stop himself. It was as if he was under some sort of truth serum when it came to her – there was no way he could directly avoid a question if she gave it to him. With anyone else, something such as this would be so easy to brush off.

He repeated it after a moment, as if adjusting to the words. "They died when I was young, around ten. It was a fire. A house fire. I had been in the basement, accidentally messed with some wires. I hadn't known. It started that night while we slept."

Rose was watching him intently, her eyes scanning his own. He attempted to hide his dismay, but he didn't think he was doing well based off of her extremely sympathetic look. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. Her hand on his forearm moved down until her fingers were entwined with his. She gave his hand a squeeze. "I didn't know."

"I'm used to it now," he said. "It's fine." That was a lie – it most definitely wasn't fine. The anniversary of their death was in three days. But he didn't want her to have to add something else to stress over to her already long list.

Rose pursed her lips in consideration. She began playing with his fingers and he found his breathing slowing as he focused in on her pattern-less ministrations. "My dad died," she said. "But I was younger than ten, so I never knew him too well. It was a hit and run driver."

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely.

"I've still got Mum, though," she said, giving a small shrug. "I can't really imagine what it'd be like to lose her."

He gave a sad smile. "It's not so bad, having nobody like that."

Without hesitation she replied: "There's me."

John stared at her in awe, before nodding quietly and smiling. This time, it felt more real. "Yeah, you're right."

He felt them drifting into that unnamed status of sexual tension, the one where her eyes darted down to his lips then back up to his eyes and then she unconsciously licked her own lips and he felt his eyes flicker down to her lips and then back to her eyes and – well – you get the point, the cycle went on and on. It was frustrating. Incredibly frustrating.

"Are you cold?" she asked. She must have realized that she was hogging the blanket and, possibly, that he was shivering.

He wasn't shivering from cold, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"A bit," he admitted.

Rose scooted closer to him and threw the blanket over them both. "Do you want to spoon?" she suggested. "Uh, nonsexual, of course."

Donna's wise words rang through his head: _Just be friends with her._

At the time, he thought he would be able to do that. But here she was, her lips swollen slightly from his kisses, and asking him to spoon her, for god's sakes. He was certain he would be placed in a mental asylum by the end of the night if he went through with this.

* * *

><p>He went through with it anyways.<p>

His left arm was around her stomach and his right arm was resting on the pillow above her head. He felt more comfortable than he ever had before, and she wiggled further into him to get snug when he felt her bum brush up against his hard-on. John froze up mentally, practically pleading her not to notice it or his reaction.

"Don't worry about it," she assured him in a voice so quiet he almost missed it.

He felt his cheeks growing warm. She had noticed.

"Happens with, like, every bloke," she explained, and he could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.

Did she realize how that sounded? Had she slept with a lot of blokes? Deciding that that train of thought was none of his business and would probably just frustrate him, he tried to fall asleep.

He couldn't.

After a while, he heard Rose's breathing steady and realized she was asleep. Unconsciously she snuggled further into him and his nose buried into her hair. He wondered just how he had managed to end up in this bizarre situation. But, then, when he thought back on it, he wouldn't have changed a single thing apart from not having talked to her for so long.

"Goodnight Rose," he whispered, his eyes falling shut.

* * *

><p>When he woke up, his sleep-boggled mind couldn't quite figure out why there was such a warm presences beside him.<p>

In her sleep, Rose must have at some point turned around in his arms, because one of her legs was snaked between both of his and her head was pillowed on his chest while she slept soundly. A tiny bit of drool had escaped her lips, and he wondered how he could find that so attractive.

"Rose," he mumbled. He glanced at the clock; it was nine in the morning. School must have been starting right now. "Rose, wake up."

"Mmm," was her response. She smacked her lips quietly and struggled to open her heavy eyelids. He grinned at the sight. "Wha' time is it?"

"Nine," he said.

"School's started," she groaned. Then, she darted fully awake, getting off of his chest to look at him, terrified. "School's started. We've gotta go."

"I've told you," John replied, "We're not going to school."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't have to go to school, but you do. I'm not lettin' you fall behind 'cause of me."

He noted that her accent was thicker than it normally was. He wanted to kiss her, but a) he knew it was a bad idea and b) he was fairly certain she wouldn't appreciate his morning breath.

It was at that moment that Rose noticed their current position. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, removing her leg from in between his.

"I won't fall behind," he assured her. "I've got people in each class who will pick up my stuff. Besides, if you haven't noticed by now, I'm brilliant."

"'Course you are, _Doctor,_" she said the name endearingly with a wink.

They grew silent and back into that awful aforementioned cycle of looking at each other's lips. "Listen," he said, prepared to rip off the bandage of talking about this delicate topic, "about last night…"

"I'm sorry, I was emotional," she blurted before he could say anything else. "You were right to stop me. I was a little tipsy and upset over Jimmy. You're a good friend, John. Thank you."

That hadn't been what he was going to say at all. He felt his heart crack within his chest and the tiny fragments fell into his ribcage. "Yeah." His voice was far too hoarse, so he cleared his throat. "Yeah, you're welcome."

Rose hugged him, ducking her nose into his shoulder. "A really good friend. My best friend."

He grinned, hugging her back. He had an epiphany - if this was what being friends with Rose Tyler was like, he would be more than happy to remain friends. More would be great, of course, but he had never really expected it to actually _become_ more.

Rose leaned over to the nightstand and picked up her mobile. "Ten texts from Jimmy, a text from Mum, and some from Shareen and Mickey," she groaned.

"What do they say?" John asked, genuinely curious but not wanting to intrude on her privacy at the same time. Then again, she had cried on his shoulder and confessed everything to him last night. She had allowed him to intrude quite a bit.

"Jimmy wants to know where I am, Shareen wants to know why I'm not at school this morning, Mickey wants to know if I'm okay, and Mum just reminded me that we've got a family dinner tonight with my cousins." She buried her face into the pillow. "God. I cannot handle this."

"Sure you can, you just need some breakfast and some relaxation first," John said, smiling at her. "Let's see, I've got cereal, Pop Tarts, waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon, anything you like."

Rose looked at him and smiled. "Pancakes?"

"Pancakes coming right up!" he announced. "Blueberry or banana?"

She made a face. "You make banana pancakes?"

"And they," he poked her cheek with his finger, "are the best pancakes in this universe and the next. Take your time, I'll be in the kitchen."

He walked out of the room and shut the bedroom door behind him. As soon as he had, he took a deep breath and looked down at himself. Yep, his hard-on was still there. Struggles of being a bloke, he thought to himself. He didn't want to go back into the bedroom to use the restroom, but he didn't see any other option.

He poked his head into the bedroom, making sure Rose wasn't getting dressed or anything, and nodded towards the bathroom before hurrying in. She just smiled at him at knowingly.

* * *

><p>When he got to work on the pancakes, he heard his phone ringing. Continuing to flip them in the air in an expertise fashion, he put the phone on his shoulder and held it to his ear. "Hello?"<p>

"John?" Donna asked.

"Oh, hey Donna." He hoped he didn't sound too happy. She had always been able to clue in on the tiniest things that he did. Sometimes, she joked that he needed a guidebook since his actions were so revealing.

"You just wake up?" Donna asked, frowning. "I didn't think you'd pick up because of school, but I've got a bit of an emergency."

"What's going on?" he stopped flipping the pancakes and clutched the phone with his hand, concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine," she said quickly. "It's about your Mum and Dad, John. And look, I didn't want to call you but they were so insistent-"

"Yeah, right." He cleared his throat. "What is it? What about then?" He hoped his inflection didn't sound as upset as he felt. His insides felt twisted around, and his amazing morning waking up next to Rose Tyler had spiraled downward with a single phone call.

He heard Donna sigh. "It's the anniversary of their death in three days."

His eyes fell shut and he turned off the stove. "You think I don't know that?"

"Granddad wants to throw a memorial party for them. In Cardiff," Donna said, and her voice sounded regretful. "It's the same small one they throw every year, but he wants you to come this time."

He knew this wasn't Donna's fault. Not at all. Still, he couldn't help but feel anger building up inside him. "Why does he insist that I come _this_ time? Why the eighth anniversary? Why not nine or ten or seven?"

"Wilf says it's bad for you to keep all that anger inside you. He thinks it'd be good for you. I told him this was a bad idea, really, I did. He just told me to give you a call, just to hear your thoughts."

John groaned, fingers rubbing at his temples.

Donna's voice was barely a whisper. "It's been eight years, John, don't you think…"

"No, I don't, actually," he snapped. "I don't because it _hurts, _Donna."

"Oh, John…" Her voice was sympathetic and he wasn't sure he could handle it. "You know Granddad just wants the best for you. He always has. If you don't want to go, I'll tell him that you don't want to go."

John took in a deep breath. "It's not that I don't want to, I just…"

"You're not sure if you could handle it?"

He nodded, though she couldn't see him. His voice was strained, "Yeah."

"I'll tell him. It's no big deal, really, don't worry about it. But the real question is why aren't you in school?" Donna asked.

"Taking care of a friend today," he explained, really not wanting to talk to her any longer. "Bye, Donna."

"Okay. If you change your mind just call me back. Bye, John."

The phone clicked and he resisted the urge to slam it into the nearest wall. Then, he felt hands on both of his arms and his breath caught in his throat.

Rose was running her thumbs up and down his skin. He wondered how much of that she had just heard. Probably all of it. "John, what's going on?"

"How much did you hear?" he asked her, turning around. Her eyes scanned his and he realized his eyes must be red from unshed tears. Cursing quietly, he escaped her arms and went to his en suite to inspect them.

"John, it's okay," Rose prompted, her expression filled with concern. "Just talk to me."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like a complete mess. "Donna wants me to go to my parents' memorial. Her granddad holds it every year. Our families were close."

"And you don't want to?" she asked, grabbing both of his hands in hers.

"I do, it's just…" He shook his head, letting out a shaky laugh. "It makes no sense."

Rose bit her lower lip. "It hurts?"

He nodded.

"I'd go with you," Rose said. "Here, you need to sit."

He felt like he was in a trance, and he allowed her to force him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Rose crawled behind him and began massaging his shoulders. He sighed, "You're really good at that."

"Mum taught me," she replied, smiling. "I'd go with you to the memorial."

"It's in Cardiff," he stated, as if that was the end of the subject.

Rose shrugged. "I don't care. That's not too far."

He laughed. "I can't ask you to do that, Rose."

"If I went," she asked quietly, "do you think you could go?"

He was one hundred percent certain that he could do it with Rose by his side. In fact, he was fairly certain he could jump off of a roof and fly if Rose was by his side. He could do anything.

John shrugged. "I'm not having you give up your schoolwork to go to a memorial that doesn't even matter with me."

"Of course it matters," she said quietly. He didn't respond. "It matters to Donna. Besides, when is it?"

"Three days."

"Today's Thursday, so it's on a Sunday, yeah? I think it's like a two or three hour long flight. So if we went Saturday morning we could get back Sunday night and make it to school on Monday."

This was getting ridiculous.

"Rose, I don't think…"

"John, if I went with you, could you go? Tell me the truth." Her fingers dug into a particularly tense spot on his neck and he felt like putty in her hands. It disturbed him slightly how much he didn't mind that.

He swallowed. "Yeah, I think I could. God, that feels good."

She laughed and kissed him on his hair. "Then I'm going. No matter what you say, unless you really don't want to go. You can't get rid of me that easy."

John turned around and pecked her on the lips. It took her by surprise and she blushed crimson, as if she hadn't made out with him for several minutes the night before. "Rose Tyler, you're wonderful."

She grinned brightly and pulled him in for a hug. "So are you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! We're starting to reach the conclusion of this story! Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you think! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** A lot of dialogue in this chapter but a lot of fluff as well!

* * *

><p>They didn't go to school on Friday either at John's insistence.<p>

It turned out to be a brilliant decision – she went and visited her mum in the morning to let her know everything was going all right and explained the trip with John. And after several hours of tedious lectures from her overprotective mother, she came back to John's flat.

They cuddled and watched Disney movies (Lion King was his personal favorite). Nothing intimate happened – he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that – but, nevertheless, it was a fantastic day so far.

As for their planned trip on Saturday morning, he had asked her several times if she wanted to back out of going. Each time, without hesitation, she told him she was going if he still wanted her to. And, of course, each time, he did.

"We'll take a train," he said, smiling at her. "I've got it all planned. But, come tomorrow morning, if you find you don't want to go with…"

"John," she interrupted, running her thumb up and down his wrist while their hands were clasped, "I'm going."

"I'm just making sure," he answered, raising his free hand in the air defensively. "I don't want you to do anything because you feel obliged."

"I want to," she promised, lowering her head onto his shoulder. He lifted his hand to her head and began stroking her hair gently. She sighed contentedly against him and burrowed her face into his neck.

As they both enjoyed that lovely moment, her phone went off. "It's the middle of school," she complained, reaching blindly towards the table where she had set down her phone and not moving from her warm position against him. "Who's calling?"

* * *

><p>Without checking the ID she pressed it to her ear and rubbed at her eye, somewhat groggy from such a lazy day. "Hello?"<p>

"Rose, where have you been?" Jimmy's gruff voice asked crossly.

She tensed immediately and John looked at her in concern. She mouthed the word Jimmy and saw his eyes darken – she chose to ignore it for the timebeing. "Didn't go to school yesterday or today," she explained.

"I've got a concert tomorrow afternoon for the band and you're going," Jimmy stated rather bluntly.

"I can't," Rose said, trying to make her voice sound apologetic. "I'm busy tomorrow."

"With what?" Jimmy snapped. "What have you been so busy with lately? Sleeping around?"

Rose noted John's unease and stepped out of the room and into his bedroom to continue speaking. "No, I haven't been. Why are you being such an asshole?"

She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.

Jimmy's voice rose slightly, it was the same voice he used before her hit her. Rose winced slightly out of instinct. "Who have you been with? Where have you been?"

"A friend," she explained.

"A male friend?" he asked in reply.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does," Jimmy stated firmly.

"Female," she lied.

He huffed. "Who?"

"You don't know her."

He was silent for a moment. "I'll be the judge of that. Give me a name."

Rose thought quickly. _John Smith. John Smith._ "Jessica Small."

Jimmy seemed to consider this. "Alright. What are you doing with her?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just hanging out. Didn't feel like going to school but we're going on a short trip this weekend."

"A trip?" Jimmy asked, his voice annoyingly incredulous, as if she couldn't go anywhere on her own. "What kind of a trip? What for?"

"To visit her family," Rose explained. "I'll be back Sunday night."

"Why the hell are you visiting her family? Is that more important to you than my _concert?_" Jimmy asked, and she could hear the disbelief in his tone.

Rose toyed with her earring. Should she break up with him? No, not now. Later. Save herself the trouble. This weekend was about John, not her. "I've gotta go."

"I'm going to call you later." His voice wasn't a question, it was a threat.

She groaned mentally. She'd have to take that call when John wasn't around. The last thing she wanted was for him to worry more than necessary. "'Kay. See you."

"Bye."

She snapped the phone shut and threw open the bedroom door. John was pressed against the wall, a sheepish, guilty look on his face. "Uh… I can explain."

"You were listening?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Couldn't resist. Sorry."

"It's fine," Rose replied with a wave of her hand. "It was Jimmy."

"I know."

"He wants me to go to a concert of his tomorrow. I told him no," she explained. "Can we get back to the movie?"

"Of course," he said, walking towards the couch. "By the way – Jessica Small? Really? Is that my female counterpart?"

Rose laughed and plopped down on the couch next to him, resuming their earlier position. "I wonder what you'd look like as a female."

He stopped stroking her hair and gave her a petrified look. "What do you _think_ I'd look like?"

She poked his cheek playfully. "Freckly."

"I look freckly as a man," he pointed out. "A manly man." He waved his hand in front of her face. "See my manly hands?"

Rose laughed and cuddled closer to him. "Very manly."

"Thank y- was that sarcastic?" Rose shook her head. He let out a breath. "Good. Scared me." She laughed a little at that.

"What would I look like as a man?" Rose asked, waggling her eyebrows.

He tried to imagine it. "Uh… Blonde."

"I'm blonde as a woman."

"Still," he shrugged. "Blonde. Uh… I think you'd be a pretty man."

"You _really_ know how to woo a girl." Rose winked. He started laughing and she followed quickly. His fingers moved down to her ribs and he tickled her, causing her laughter to turn into hysterical giggles. "John!" she squealed, trying to crawl to the other side of the couch.

John picked her up by her hips and pulled her onto his lap, moving his hands from her ribs to her stomach and eventually resting them there, unmoving. She looked up at him, straining her neck in the awkward position. "If it's all the same to you," she said, still out of breath and panting slightly, "I think you'd look pretty as a girl."

They started laughing again, and this time they ended up on top of one another, lying horizontally on the couch. "Rose Tyler, when did you become the most important person in my life?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Maybe when you finally worked up the guts to talk to me," she said, nudging him in the side.

"I was…" He searched for the right word. "Intimidated."

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. "_Me?_ _Intimidating?_"

"Oh absolutely," he teased. "Still terrifying. Formidable, really. My heart is racing as we speak."

Rose turned around in his lap and raised a hand to his heart, listening to the thumping. "It _is_ racing," she said quietly.

He stared at her with an intense, dark gaze and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. John raised one of his hands to her neck and placed his index and middle fingers on her pulse. "So is yours," he mumbled quietly.

Before she could think through what she was doing, her head was moving at an almost painfully slow pace towards his. Their lips brushed, just barely, neither one of them pushing it further. His eyes had fallen shut and she drank in the sight of him – the red light of the television reflecting off of the side of his face and on his freckles, his hair, which was a bit messier than usual, his muscular shoulders…

And, of course, his soft pink lips that were so _unbelievably_ tempting.

She could feel herself falling for him like a sailor falling for a siren's call when John's phone went off. She heard him curse under his breath and would have laughed if not for the intensity of the situation. His hand was still on her neck and her hand was still on his chest and neither of them moved apart from John backing his lips away from hers.

* * *

><p>"I should get that," he said regretfully, his eyes darting back and forth between both of hers.<p>

"Yeah," Rose replied, grabbing the arm of the couch to lift herself off of him. He grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and flipped it open. "Hello?" His voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

"Spaceman!" Donna said happily from the other end.

He sighed. "Hey, Donna. I'm going to the memorial."

He heard muffled excited conversations from the other end before she returned to the phone. "Really?!"

John nodded. "I'm taking Rose with me. That's okay, right?"

"More than okay," Donna said. "That's brilliant. I actually just called to let you know that Granddad has some stuff he wants to give you."

"What kind of stuff?"

Donna let out a breath. "I dunno, pictures, I think. I'm not really sure – he didn't give me specifics. Just told me that if you weren't coming to the party then he'd have to mail them to you or you'd have to visit. But if you're coming, that's just great."

He smiled. "Alright. Great." He stole a look at Rose, who was smiling a little and toying with a lock of her hair. Her tongue was poking out of her lips and he cursed silently. Sexy, amazing, tempting little minx. "Anyways, I was kind of in the middle of something, so do you think-"

"What were you in the middle of?" Donna asked.

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, nothing."

She sensed the lie immediately. Donna knew him too well. "Is Rose there?"

He squeaked, "What? Uh, no. I was doing… Academic things. It'd bore you to death. Textbooks, essays…"

"Hi Donna," Rose said loudly, leaning closer to John.

"Ah, well I'll let you two get back to your _essays,_" Donna said, humor in her voice. John cringed slightly. "Use protection, little brother."

He gaped, looking at Rose and wondering if she had been able to hear that, too. "Bye, Donna," he said quickly before shutting the phone off. "Can you believe the nerve?..."

Rose simply laughed and shrugged. "I like her."

"Did you hear what she said?!" John asked, scandalized.

Rose nodded. "She's just pushing your buttons. They're very easy to push, you know." Rose moved closer to him in an obvious attempt to finish what they had started.

His mind was at war with his body.

His mind was yelling that he needed to wait – she needed to sort things out with Jimmy and all of that. It wasn't time, his mind repeated firmly. Soon, possibly, but not yet.

Besides, she was so brilliant and amazing and stunningly beautiful and what if he wasn't enough? What if he just embarrassed himself? What if she didn't even want sex? What if this was some sort of a totally platonic kissing thing. Or even platonic sex? There was no way he could handle that.

Damn it. He had no idea how a girl's mind worked. What did she want from him?

His body, on the other hand, knew exactly what it wanted from her. His current hard-on was rather embarrassing, and it hadn't even gone away while he was talking to Donna since Rose was sitting there looking like a _goddess_. He could feel his body submitting to her. In fact, he was fairly certain that while she was this close to him, she could ask him to rob a bank for her and he would be sprinting to the first one he could find with a trash bag in hand.

But right now he had to take action. She was crawling back onto his lap and her pelvis brushed against his hard on and she let out a delicious little gasp that sent nerves to all the right – no, wrong – or was it right – he couldn't tell – places. He couldn't differentiate anything in his mind anymore and he was sure that if he opened his mouth the only sound he had the potential to produce was 'Guh'.

"You look nervous," she said, cupping his cheek with one hand and running her thumb along his soft sideburn. "I want this, John. This isn't like the other night. I want you, if you want me, yeah?"

"Uhm," came his response.

Well, he supposed it was better than 'guh'.

"I don't want to do this if you're not sure," Rose said, giving him a sympathetic smile and brushing a tendril of hair out of his face. He watched her hand with his eyes, completely paralyzed. "I can wait."

She gave him a quick kiss of the lips and then was gone. Well, technically she was just on the other side of the couch, only a few feet away, really, but it could have been a million miles and it would have made no difference. He had missed a chance to have sex with Rose Tyler.

She had been in his lap, horny, rubbing against his erection, completely ready, and, magically, he had managed to muck it up.

Then again, was she right? Was he not ready? Not sure? His body definitely was sure. But, analyzing the situation further, he was fairly certain his mind wasn't sure what it wanted. Not for the first time, he was dumbfounded by her brilliance to read him better than even he could.

"Can we still cuddle?" she asked, pursing her lips. "Or is that too… You know."

He nodded dumbly. "Yeah, I can do that."

Rose smiled thankfully and moved over to him so that he could wrap his arms around her. She pushed the play button on the remote and Hercules began singing about how he could 'go the distance'.

He couldn't focus in on the movie at all, instead he simply watched Rose's expression as she watched it. A tranquil smile rested on her lips and her breathing was even. He wondered how she could possibly be so calm. His heart was still racing at a thousand miles an hour – and if he had two hearts, he was sure he would have exploded into flames at this point.

When the song ended, he forced his eyes to watch the movie instead of her. Whenever the characters made a joke, she laughed quietly and her body wriggled against him. He held his breath, letting his eyes fall shut.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could wait. He hoped he'd be ready soon, though he wasn't even sure _why_ he wasn't ready, so how was he supposed to know when he _was?_

Why did everything have to be so confusing?

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure when during the movie he had fallen asleep, but when he woke up there was a blanket around him and a soft pillow against his head. He drowsily lifted himself up, shocked to find himself in his bed and not on the couch. How had he gotten here? What time was it?<p>

He glanced at the clock. Seven at night.

Somehow still exhausted, he buried his face in the pillow beneath him and let out a deep breath. He shifted and found that the jacket and socks he had been wearing on the couch were gone. Frowning, he glanced around the room and saw them neatly folded on top of his dresser.

He smiled at the sight. It must have been Rose.

He groaned as he managed to get himself out of the bed. When he swung open the door to the bedroom she was reclined on his couch, a book in her hands. His mind wandered off quickly at the sight – was this would it would be like if they were married? Would he wake up to the sight of her all the time and be filled with this same sense of joy and inundating love?

He sure hoped so. He believed it, too.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "Or, well, night, really. You fell asleep on me."

He shrugged innocently. "Guess Hercules isn't my cup of tea."

"You talk in your sleep, you know. Didn't notice it until just now. Maybe it's just when you sleep off schedule." Rose doggy-eared the page of her book and set it down on the floor next to the couch. "Did you know that?"

He shook his head. "I didn't know that. What did I say?"

Rose shrugged. "Mostly nonsense. Heard you say my name, once…" She gave him a tender smile, biting her lower lip. "It was really sweet. Adorable, honestly."

He ducked his head in embarrassment and felt himself blushing. Stupid bodily reactions. Then again, she had just called him adorable. Did anything else really matter? "I don't remember what I was dreaming about," he admitted, though he had a pretty good idea of what any dream involving Rose would be like.

She shrugged again nonchalantly.

"What are you reading?" he asked, approaching her and running a hand through his hair at the same time, aware that it must look crazy from bed.

"Some random book I found on your bedroom shelf." She showed him the title. "Just thought the cover looked interesting. Is that okay?"

"That's _Inkheart,_" he said, astonished.

Rose looked at the red book cover. "Yeah. It's really good."

That had been his mother's favorite book series. In fact, she had passed down that copy of the book to him – her name was signed in it. Seeing Rose reading it should have made him sad, since he hadn't touched the book in several years, but for some reason it sent a feeling of warmth from his head through his toes. She was giving him a curious look and he figured he'd tell her about that later.

"It's a great book," he said. "Why don't you keep it?"

Rose stared at him wide eyed. "Keep it? It's yours."

"Just until you're done with it," he elaborated. "Bring it on our trip."

"Are you sure?" she asked, frowning.

John nodded, kissing her softly on the forehead. He wasn't sure what brought him to do it, but it felt like the right thing to do. "I'm sure."

She hugged him and he held her close, breathing in the scent of the shampoo from her travel-bottle that she had brought for the trip and used in his flat as well. "By the way," he began, "how did you even carry me from the couch to my bed?"

Rose gave him an accusatory look. "I'm stronger than I look."

He wasn't quite sure how to respond. He opened his mouth then shut it.

"And you're skinny," she pointed out. "Very skinny."

"You sound like Donna," he murmured, glancing away.

Rose hugged him again. "I like you skinny. I'd like you fat, too, though. Honestly, I'd like you however you looked. Could have big old ears or a fez that you constantly wore everywhere and I'd still like you."

Her words made his stomach twist and turn and his hearts flutter. He wasn't sure he had ever loved anything in the world more than her in this moment. "A fez," he decided on saying after a moment. "Not a bad idea."

She poked him in the chest. "Don't start wearing a fez."

"You just said you'd like me with it," she said defensively.

"I would," Rose mused, trailing a finger down the bare skin of his arm. "Doesn't mean I want you to start wearing weird headwear."

The feeling of her fingernail on his skin gave him goose bumps. John smiled brightly at her. "I'd like you no matter how you looked, too."

Rose grinned brightly at him and they stayed like that for a long while, simply caught up in each other. After a minute, she stood up. "What's for dinner, oh master chef?"

"Ramen noodles!" he announced happily. "Only the real pros can make it."

She wiggled her fingers at him and he grabbed her hand. "Sounds good. Good thing we work well together."

"Shiver and Shake," he agreed.

"Which one's Shiver?" Rose asked as they walked, her tongue poking out between her lips provocatively.

"Oh, I'm Shake."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** See how many parallels you can catch in this chapter! :) Hope you enjoyed and be sure to leave a review!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** May or may not have used a gag from Winter Solider in here. Don't sue me, Marvel.

* * *

><p>"These. Are. Perfection," Rose groaned in delight as she shoveled the Ramen noodles into her mouth. Her eyes were shut and she was leaning one elbow on the wooden table.<p>

He stared at her in shock, wondering how she could make such an action seem so sexy. Forcing his eyes away from her, he took his own large bite of the noodles and hummed. "Yeah, these are great. Props to the chef."

She smiled at him. "I wouldn't have had to have been the chef if you hadn't almost burned down your flat."

John gave her a sheepish grin. "I wouldn't have burned down the flat! Just, uh, scorched it a bit."

Rose laughed and leaned forward in her chair. "What time are we leaving for the train tomorrow?"

"It leaves at ten," he explained. "So we should probably leave here a quarter of, or something. Are you still sure you want to?..."

"Yes, I'm sure," she replied instantly, giving him a good-natured roll of the eyes.

John smiled gratefully. "Alright." They continued staring at each other with stupid, wide smirks on their faces.

Rose's phone went off and John couldn't help but feel bitter for it interrupting the small moment they had been having. They just didn't have good luck. She pulled it out of her pocket and frowned. "It's Jimmy. I'll be right back."

John opened his mouth to protest but she was already walking towards his bedroom to take the call. He sighed and took another bite of Ramen, closing his eyes and savoring the taste.

His mind floated back to their almost-sort-of-not-really-a-kiss (which it had done several times why they had been cooking, and had also been a majority of the reason he had almost burned the flat down). It was so distracting – thinking of the way he had had the perfect opportunity presented to him on a silver platter with angels singing and he hadn't taken it.

Then again, whatever intimate time he had with Rose, he wanted it to mean something. He didn't want it to just be sex, he wanted it to be… Well, he wasn't quite sure. Something _more. _Something nobody else in the world had ever experienced like they would experience it.

She was so special to him, so beautiful and perfect and he felt as though if he made the slightest mistake she would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He was sure he was in love. He had never felt like this about anyone – not even _close_ to this.

_O! She doth teach the torches to burn bright._

Not even the words of Shakespeare could describe her, in his opinion. She was just… She was just _Rose,_ and yet somehow that was the most perfect thing she could be. He was sure at this point that he was head-over-heels enamored, and he knew that if he lost her now there would never be any going back.

Enamored. Entranced. Engrossed. Enthralled. Enchanted.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked from behind him, startling him out of his alliteration-consumed thoughts.

He looked at her over his shoulder and saw her leaned up against the wall, looking impossibly adorable as she watched him in amusement. "Oh, uh, nothing," he lied. "What did Jimmy have to say?"

She sighed in frustration and sat down. "Nothing important. Just stupid stuff, don't worry about it."

He did. Constantly. However, he didn't say any of that. Instead he just stared at the kitchen wall and swirled some noodles around his fork.

"You're doing it again," Rose said.

John turned to look at her quickly. He frowned. "Doing what?"

"You do it a lot," she contemplated. "You kind of zone out, but it looks like you're really focused at the same time. Your thinking face."

Unsure of what to say to that, he just shrugged. "I think a lot, I guess."

"What about?" Rose prompted, her eyebrows drawing together. "Sometimes I think I can practically hear the cogs in your mind going a million miles an hour."

He wanted to tell her that ninety-percent of his thoughts consisted of feelings and fantasies involving her, but he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. His eyes flickered down to her lips and he remembered Rose crawling into his lap again. He cursed his memory for being so precise, for remembering every excruciating detail of how she felt against him.

Remembering suddenly that he had been in the midst of a conversation, he snapped back in reality and was immensely glad for the table covering his current erection. "I think about a lot of stuff. Kind of flits from one thing to another, really."

_Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice…_

"Yeah?" He could see the hint of a teasing smile on her lips. "Give me a glimpse in those thoughts."

_Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_

"I'm thinking about you, right now," he admitted. _You and cheesy Shakespearian quotes that you'd probably laugh at if you heard me say them,_ he wanted to add.

Rose blinked in surprise. "What about me?"

_One half of me is yours, the other half yours…_

"You're beautiful," John stated.

She blushed and raised her fingers to toy with her golden hoop earring. "Really? You're thinking about that?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "Is that okay?"

Rose laughed. "Of course that's okay. It's sweet."

He felt as if he was collapsing in on himself by resisting the urge to snog the life out of her. "Rose, what you said earlier about me not being ready, and me uh… Freezing up…"

"You don't have to apologize," she said quickly.

He shook his head. "No, not that. Well, yes, I _should_ apologize, but that wasn't what I was going to say. It's just… I think you were right."

She looked disappointed. "Oh."

"It's not that I don't want you… I do…" His eyes fell shut as he thought about just how much he wanted her. "I _really_ do, but it's like you said – my mind does race at a million miles an hour…"

"You're conflicted, or, you were," she concluded, looking at him in sympathy.

He nodded anxiously, his jaw tightening. "I don't know… I don't know if I won't be. If I ever won't be, I mean. This all just happened so fast and Jimmy is still around and I guess I just feel like I'm on overload."

"It's fine, really, John," Rose said, giving him a small smile, for which he was grateful. "I'll be waiting for you whenever you're ready, yeah? Even if you never are. No rush at all."

John nodded tightly, not trusting his voice. Rose got out of her chair and gave him a tight hug.

"Thanks for being such a good friend," she mumbled into his ear.

"I should be thanking you," he replied, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes.

Rose rolled her eyes playfully. "How about we agree just to thank and appreciate each other equally?"

He pretended to consider it. "Hmm, I _might _be able to live with that."

Grinning, she kissed him on the cheek and took their empty bowls to the sink to begin washing them. "What do you want to do tonight?"

"I'm not sure. Want to go for a walk?" he suggested.

Rose closed the dishwasher and turned around. "Yeah, sounds good."

* * *

><p>They were walking and talking throughout the streets of London, hardly paying any attention to where they were going and bumping into people and objects more than once. Rose pointed out a few places containing some of her childhood memories and he held her hand during the whole walk. After about twenty minutes she had gotten cold and he had offered her his brown coat, which she had taken gratefully and wrapped around herself like a poncho.<p>

"Look out," she whispered suddenly, yanking him towards a wall.

He stared at her in confusion but complied until they were pressed up against the light shadows being cast by the awning of the building. "What?" he asked in an undertone, glancing around at the people occupying the streets.

"Down the street. He's looking towards the road. Jimmy." Rose jerked her head and John saw him, Jimmy Stone, walking with his hands shoved in his pockets. If he looked straight ahead even for a moment, he would see them, there was no doubt.

Rose was panicking, worrying her lower lip roughly. They couldn't walk in front of Jimmy - he would definitely notice them. They couldn't just keep walking down the street, either. There was a chance he would pass them without noticing, but it was miniscule. "My jacket," John urged. "Pull it further around yourself."

She did as he asked so that the majority of the back of her head wasn't visible. It still wasn't enough – Jimmy would be able to see her face and part of her body, and if she covered her face as well she'd just look plain bizarre and conspicuous.

Jimmy was still walking, his attention obviously caught by something on the other side of the street. John focused his thoughts, trying to push down any emotions (or temptations to sock Jimmy in the face) down.

"Public displays of affection," he said to Rose in a hushed voice, smiling slowly at his own brilliance.

She frowned. "What?"

"I wrote a paper about this – they make people uncomfortable – he wouldn't look." Rose was staring at him perplexedly and he sighed in frustration. Jimmy was getting closer. "Oh, sod it."

John crashed his lips down on hers and Rose responded immediately, keeping his jacket around her whilst getting up on her tippy toes to meet John halfway. Her mouth opened underneath slightly his and he groaned slightly, surprising himself and Rose at the same time with the noise.

Her hands bunched up in the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer against her. At first he thought she was trying to initiate more (which terrified him and excited him at the same time), then he just realized she was trying to further hide her face and body from Jimmy. He spun them around so that she was backed up against the wall and he was mostly visible instead, moving his hands to her hips and holding her steady.

"He's gone," Rose breathed in relief after they broke away. She was breathing hard – the kiss having never broken – and he definitely wasn't breathing easy either.

"Yeah," John replied, his voice coming out far deeper than he had intended. He cleared his throat. "Um, yeah, he's gone."

"You wrote a paper about _that?_" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

John raised his hands in defense. "I, um, it didn't exactly have the same, uh, well, yes, I did. In psychology. See, if you see a couple engaged in some sort of intimate activity close to you, it's a natural human response to turn away."

He thought she was angry. Her lips were pursed and she was staring at him intently. He opened his mouth to apologize profusely when she started laughing, the jacket almost slipping off of her in the process.

Soon, he was laughing with her, the irony of the situation hitting him. Rose grabbed at his arm for balance and he hugged her, sweeping her off of her feet and spinning around. She was still out of breath from laughing and kissing and she brushed a tendril of hair out of her face. "What was that for?"

"You're wonderful," he stated simply.

Rose flushed and grinned at him. "So are you. Although, honestly, I think we could have had him not notice us another way.

He quirked an eyebrow. "How?"

Rose turned around and nodded towards something. There was the door to an open restaurant a few feet away from them. He gaped, looking from her to the door then back again.

"Why didn't you point out that there was an escape door _before_ I kissed you?" he asked, trying to sound stern but his amused smile was betraying him.

She shrugged. "I didn't notice it. Besides, that's less fun, isn't it?"

He rolled his eyes playfully and took her head. "Want to head back to my flat?"

Rose waggled her eyebrows at him teasingly. "Don't you want to buy me a drink first?"

"Oh, shut it." He started walking towards their flat, smiling brightly as he went but not quite sure why he was so elated. Then he had remembered that he had just kissed Rose Tyler _again_ (it was the word 'again' that _really_ excited him).

* * *

><p>"Um, Rose, you're going to have to wake up," John stated, nudging her gently with his arm.<p>

Rose made a quiet noise and grabbed his arm unconsciously, clutching it to her chest. He blushed, glad she wasn't awake to see his reaction, and slowly pulled it out of her grip. She was asleep on the couch since she had insisted on sleeping there instead of taking the bed, and her bag for their trip was lying near the front door next to his.

"Roseeee," he said in a singsong voice. "You have to get up sooner than that. We've got to be out of here in an hour."

She groaned again and rubbed at her eyes, looking up at him groggily. "Morning."

"Morning." He set a cup on the coffee table beside her. "I made tea."

"You're a _savior,_" she mumbled, taking the cup and bringing it to her lips.

He smiled. "I know."

Rose swung her legs over the side of the couch and sat up, stretching out her arms and legs. She was wearing grey cotton shorts and a white t-shirt which had ridden up slightly, giving him a tantalizing view of a strip of creamy skin. He had to tear his eyes away from it constantly.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked.

She nodded. "Good. Your couch is comfortable."

"The bed is better," he pointed out.

Not taking the bait, she simply shrugged. "It's _your_ bed, _you_ should sleep in it. Anyways, what's for breakfast?"

_Damn it._ He should have made her breakfast. He imagined it – her waking up to a delicious breakfast in bed buffet and instantly thanking him with a kiss, maybe something more.

Bad train of thought. He scolded himself mentally.

John shrugged. "Uh, I didn't cook anything."

"Cereal sounds good," she decided, standing up.

"I'll make it," he offered, already walking towards the kitchen.

Rose laughed. "You spoil me. I never get this at home."

When he thought about it, he realized she deserved this every day. She shouldn't _ever_ have to lift a finger if she didn't want to. She deserved a breakfast in bed buffet every morning that she'd like it, she deserved to be adore by someone, and she deserved to adore someone in return. She deserved the moon and the stars and all the planets in the sky and beyond, everything in all of creation.

John just hoped that his small(ish) flat, decent amount of money, relationship issues, tendency to ramble about pointless things, and emotional baggage would be enough for her.

He made her cereal and she took it gratefully. They ate quickly then she showered (he had showered before she had woken up) and got ready for the day. When she stepped out of the bathroom, he was staring at her in awe.

She was wearing a simple pink dress with a low back and a lacy hem. It clung to her tightly and ended just above her knees. The fabric looked soft and he wanted to touch it desperately. He couldn't see a zipper, and he thought that could be a fun game. Find the zipper on Rose Tyler. Second best to his favorite game, pull down the zipper on Rose Tyler's dress and shag her senseless.

Then again, he hadn't actually _played_ either game yet, so he couldn't really talk.

She noticed him staring and gave him a flirtatious look. "See something you like?"

He wasn't sure he could handle this sort of flirting without snogging her on the spot. Desperately, he repeated a mantra in his head. _I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this._

As she walked closer and closer to him, he had a hard time remembering exactly why, in any way shape or form, snogging her would be a bad idea. In fact, it seemed like quite a good idea, and it felt as though the pros would outweigh the cons if he made a list. Nevertheless he didn't make a list, because he remembered that she had asked him a question. "Quite a lot," he replied with the same cheeky grin she had, taking her hand. "Ready to go?"

"Sure." Rose picked up her bag in her left hand.

"I can carry that, if you want," he offered quickly.

Rose shook her head. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own bag, John."

"I wasn't insinuating that," he insisted, "I just meant…"

Rose got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm just messing with you. I know what you meant. It was a sweet offer, but I'm fine.

He grinned down at her and opened the door before picking up his own bag with his right hand. "Allons-y!"

* * *

><p>The train ride, in itself, was uneventful. John caught a man staring at the bottom of Rose's dress and glared at him heatedly, causing the man to turn around almost immediately and pretend to become suddenly interested in the adverts on the wall. Rose hadn't noticed, or if she had she hadn't said anything. He wondered how often that happened to her on a daily basis.<p>

When they arrived in Cardiff, Donna was at the train station to greet them. She pulled John into a hug immediately, so tight that he had to yank himself out of her grip. Then, she hugged Rose much more gently and introduced herself. Rose took to her immediately; she was a beautiful woman with fiery red hair to match her personality.

"Granddad was so glad to hear you both were coming," Donna said, smiling.

"I haven't been here in a while," John replied. "It'll be nice." He gave Rose a warm look and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

Donna's eyes flitted down to their joined hands before back to John, portraying a clear message with her eyes: _I thought she had a boyfriend._ He blushed slightly but tore his eyes away so Rose wouldn't notice anything was off about them.

They started walking through Cardiff towards the Noble's large two-story flat. Donna stood beside Rose and they talked about something having to do with silk scarves whilst he found himself zoning out immediately.

He had grown up here with his mother and father, and though the city had changed much since he had moved to London, there were still so many memories embedded in it. He could name several streets, and he could find his way around relatively easily.

Every once and a while he'd recognize a place he had eaten at with his mother or park he had been to. It had been eight years since he had lived here, about four since he had visited, so everything was a bit hazy, but some of the memories were so distinctly clear he felt as though he had been hit in the forehead with a golf club.

Suddenly he felt dizzy and the sounds of cars and conversations and commotion became too much. John released Rose's hand and glanced at the two women staring at him in concern. He nodded his head towards a bench on the other side of the street and hoped he didn't look as anxious as he felt. "Uh, I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>Rose watched as John crossed the street then sat down on the bench and started watching the cars go by. She was startled slightly by Donna's hand on her forearm. "He needs a little time," Donna explained gently. "The last time he visited this place was four years ago, and I guess it's a bit too much. He grew up here with his family."<p>

Rose nodded, swallowing past the lump that had formed in her throat. "I wish I could help him."

"You are helping him," Donna assured her. "He wouldn't be here if not for you. And, trust me, I've listened to him rant about you on the phone before."

Rose couldn't help but be curious as she blushed. "What'd he say?"

Donna cast a quick glance at John before shrugging as if having decided something with herself. "Let's see…" She began counting off on her fingers. "Beautiful, pretty, amazing, smart, funny, perfect… I think that's the majority of it."

Rose stared at her, mouth forming an 'o'. "He said all that about me?"

Donna nodded, looking proud. "Wouldn't stop."

Her heart threatened to explode with how much she loved John in that moment. She looked at him. He was rubbing at his face with one hand and staring at a tree, the other hand supporting his chin. "I like him, a lot," Rose admitted to Donna. "But, um… There's a complication."

"Your boyfriend?" Donna asked.

Rose frowned. "How'd you know?"

"Don't mean to sound nosy but he told me that, too, a while ago. I told him not to make a move if you were dating," Donna explained.

"I'm gonna break up with Jimmy as soon as we get back to London," Rose said, scrunching up her nose. "He's an awful person."

"Why'd you get with him in the first place?" Donna asked, looking sympathetic.

Rose let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I thought he was good. He was, for a while… But then things just got…" She could feel tears stinging at her eyes and she cursed under her breath. She barely knew Donna and this was her first impression?

"It's okay," Donna soothed, squeezing her arm. "You can tell me if you want, but if you don't want to, that's okay too."

"He started hurting me," Rose confessed. "Never anything consistent, just whenever he got angry… And I didn't know what to do 'cause I was so embarrassed about telling people and, _god,_ I'm just a wreck."

"Jimmy won't hurt you again," Donna promised. "Never again."

Rose nodded and wiped at her eye. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, I don't know why I'm being so overdramatic."

Donna looked at John. "Maybe you should go talk to him. I think you're good for each other."

Rose nodded again and tried to compose herself. "Okay."

"He knows where my flat is," Donna explained. "You both come whenever you're ready. No hurry at all."

* * *

><p>John smiled at Rose as he noticed her approaching. He saw Donna walking towards her flat, and as Rose got closer he saw that the rims of her eyes were tinted slightly red. He grew worried immediately. "Are you alright?"<p>

She nodded and sat down next to him on the bench, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I want you to promise me something," she said.

"Anything," he responded without thinking about it at all.

"Promise you'll never leave me," Rose asked quietly, looking at him through her lashes.

He stared at her in surprise. "Of course I'll never leave you." She didn't look satisfied, so he moved to rest his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. "I promise."

"I'm never gonna leave you, either," Rose said in reply, giving him a small smile.

"Did Donna say something?" he asked concernedly. "What brought this on?"

Rose licked her lips. "Nothing. I just wanted to know."

He smiled. "Well now you know."

She pecked him on the lips and his smile grew. Her eyes flitted between both of his. "Are you okay? You seemed out of it earlier."

"I just got a little overwhelmed," he said, glancing around. "This is all a bit much."

Rose pulled him in for a hug and placed a tender kiss to his neck. "If you _ever_ need to get away again, you don't need to explain yourself – to me or anyone."

"Thank you," he mumbled, feeling unbelievably content in their current position. He wished he could stay there forever. "What did you and Donna talk about?"

She shrugged. "Nothing in particular."

He pulled away and his eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Really?"

"Why do you want to know?" she teased.

Given her skipping around the topic and the earlier red-rimmed eyes, she could guess Jimmy. But earlier, he had looked up to see Donna talking and Rose blushing furiously, so he suspected there was something else, too. "Just curious," he said, trying to sound innocent. He added a small shrug.

"We _might_ have talked about you, just a little bit," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"What did she say?" he blurted out far too quickly and far too desperately for his liking. He wasn't a beggar. Well… That was debatable when it came to Rose. Blimey, that sounded wrong.

Rose laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder, grabbing his hand in hers and sighing. John strained his neck to look at her. "What'd she say?" he asked again, frowning. She didn't move. "Rose?"

"Nice things," she assured him.

He huffed, and she thought for a moment he was going to stop persisting. But he could hardly resist, especially with all the possibilities of 'nice' things Donna could have said. "Like what? You've got to tell me."

"Let's go to the flat now," Rose suggested, standing up.

"Are you going to tell me?"

She started walking down the street. "Nope!"

John stood up to chase after her. "Rose! Oh, come on!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it took forever to edit! :D Be sure to leave a review below because they always make me very happy ^.^


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I'll apologize in advance for the dash overload in this chapter. I guess I was just in a dash mood? I'm not sure. Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter, but it's pretty action-packed, too.

* * *

><p>"John!" Wilfred said, pulling him in for a hug and clapping him hard on the back.<p>

John hugged him back, a wide smile on his face. "Hey, Wilf."

"It's been too long," Wilf stated, giving him a firm look. He turned to Rose and his expression turned warm. "And you must be Rose."

Rose blushed and extended her hand. Wilf shook his head and pulled her in for a hug instead, making her smile. "It's nice to meet you," she said.

"John's description didn't do your beauty justice," Wilf said, only making Rose blush more. Then he nodded his head. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Rose said, stepping up beside John to take his hand.

* * *

><p>They all went out together for lunch a few hours later at a small, cozy restaurant. Rose sat next to John and Wilfred and Donna sat in the opposite booth. John wrapped his arm around Rose's side upon noticing that she was cold in her pink dress, and she snuggled into him instantly.<p>

"I've known John since he was a baby," Wilfred said to Rose, smiling. "Speaking of which, I've got some pictures to give you, John. Some really old ones that I just printed of you and the rest of your family."

"That'd be great," John said, his voice tight.

Rose squeezed his hand and decided to lighten to the topic. "I'd love to see your baby pictures."

"Oh, we _have_ to show her the one of you in that Winnie the Pooh costume," Donna said, smiling impishly at John.

He ducked his head, shaking it quickly. "No. We're _not_ showing her that picture."

"A Winnie the Pooh costume?" Rose asked happily, looking at him, though he didn't exactly share her enthusiasm.

Wilfred laughed. "He had the full costume, but he spilled jam all over it halfway through Halloween night so it looked a little violent by the end."

"Guess he hasn't changed much, then," Rose said, glancing at John.

John buried his face in his hands and made a groaning noise. Rose ruffled his hair playfully and he looked at her with scorn, making her laugh harder.

"Remember the picture of you in the bath with the bubbles all over your hair?" Wilfred asked, making Donna and Rose burst out into laughter.

John groaned. "We're not showing Rose that – or _any _of them, for that matter."

"I'd _love_ to see them," Rose said, tongue poking out between her teeth as she looked at him.

"It's not as good as the one from when he was seven and…" Donna began, but John leaned forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Then, he pulled his hand away like it was on fire and gaped. "She licked me!"

Donna simply stuck her tongue out at him while he pouted, lower lip extended.

"So tell me about school," Wilfred prompted in a way that was so father-like that it made John's heart feel as though it was bouncing around in his chest. He shifted slightly where he was sitting, as if to settle it.

"Good," John said, nodding.

"As usual?" Wilf asked, laughing.

John shrugged modestly. "I suppose."

Wilfred looked at Rose. "He speaks four languages, you know."

Rose smiled. "Yeah, I know. He's a hero with my French homework."

"He taught himself French at ten years old," Donna stated. "I used to call him a nerd for it."

"You still do," John pointed out, though he was smiling.

Donna shrugged innocently. "Well, I'm not _wrong._"

"Rose is good at art," John stated, looking at Rose appreciatively.

She blushed. "Not really."

"Are you kidding?" He frowned and stared at her in disbelief. "You're incredible! I'm complete rubbish at art."

She rolled her eyes. "I bet you'd be better at it than me."

John scoffed. "As if. I can't draw a decent stick figure – I always draw the legs and the body proportionally incorrect."

"Stick figures don't have to be proportionally correct," Rose pointed out. "That's why they're stick figures."

He considered that. "Well, I like my stick figures to be as accurate as they possibly could be, while being, er…"

"Sticks?" Donna suggested.

"Yeah," John said, satisfied as he beamed at Rose.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him. "You _are_ a nerd."

"Oi!" he said, whacking her gently on the arm.

Rose giggled and snuggled further into him. "But you're my nerd."

There was something about the way she said that.

It was meant as a playful insult – he wasn't stupid, he could tell that much. But the way she said it so casually, as if it was a well-known, open fact that they were… Each other's. What did that even mean? _Technically,_ she was Jimmy's. Well, not Jimmy's in the sense that he _owned_ her – this was the twenty first century, after all – but his in the sense that they were still dating. They hadn't broken up yet.

Yet.

Yet Rose was referring to John as _her's_ even if it had just been a simple slip of the tongue or something she had said without thinking about.

He knew he was reading too much into this, but he wanted to know the extent of this ownership thing. Obviously she didn't own him… Or did she? In a way, she did. It depended on how one looked at it. He'd do anything she asked. He'd do anything to help her, anything in his power, at least. Quite literally.

But was she his? No. It didn't feel like it, anyways. Were they, oh, what was the word…?

Exclusive?

Did she think of them as exclusive? He certainly did. He couldn't imagine being with anyone else – Rose Tyler was, essentially, the love of his life. And he had never been a religious man – but if he believed in multiple incarnations or regenerations or anything of the sort, he figured she would be the love of those lives, too. Or, at least, her reincarnations would be the love of his reincarnations. Okay, now he was starting to confuse himself. What had he been thinking about, again?

Right. _Exclusive._

It was a weird term – he had never really understood why people used it. Casual dating was so pointless, in his opinion – sure, you got a good shag out of it, but did it ever actually _mean_ anything? No. And all dating either ends in breaking up or marriage. Well, of course there were other variables such as death and moving away and chronic illnesses, but he would file those away under the 'breaking up' category.

Once again, that was beside the point.

He had already decided he didn't want anything with Rose to be casual, in any way shape or form. But what did _she_ want in that aspect? She'd never told him that she loved him, but, then again, he'd never told her either. Was she waiting on him to say it? No – he couldn't stress about that right now. He'd stress about it later.

And, blimey, love was such a strong word. He was sure that he loved her – there was not a single doubt in his mind, actually – but when had love ever gone well for him before?

He had loved his family. Look what had happened there.

He loved Donna and Wilfred – they were his second family, really, but they'd never replace his first in his heart.

He'd loved his ex-girlfriend Reinette. Maybe. Possibly. Something else to stress about later.

And now he loved Rose, and in doing so he was placing his metaphorical somehow-removable heart on his metaphorical sleeve and laying on the metaphorical ground and practically begging her to step on it with her metaphorical foot to ruin him completely – but not metaphorical ruin.

When Rose touched his arm in concern, he was flown out of his own little world and noticed the waitress offering him his plate with a confused look. He smiled and accepted it before placing it in front of him and unwrapping his silverware from its napkin. "You okay?" Rose asked. "You kind of zoned out there."

She was biting her lower lip – it was what she did whenever she was worried or upset – and he nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He wasn't, though. Not really. There were a thousand things that he needed to work out in his head but they weren't _science_ – they were emotions and he wasn't sure he had the capacity to solve them. He had never been good with emotions. Reinette had told him that right before she had broken up with him.

"This food is delicious," Donna stated.

"It is," Wilfred agreed, taking another bite.

"So I was thinking we'd finish lunch, head down to the grave outside the city, maybe visit the old house around there, too, and then head back here and we can look through pictures together. Does that sound okay or is that too much?" Wilfred asked them all, but John could tell he was specifically concerned for him.

He stiffened slightly – he couldn't help it, really – and felt Rose squeeze his hand. It was amazing how relaxing she could be with such a simple gesture, and he felt tension leave his muscles. "That sounds good, yeah," he said, voice slightly higher than usual. Donna narrowed her eyebrows at him in concern but he shrugged it off, focusing on his food instead.

* * *

><p>They drove to the outskirts of Cardiff in Wilfred's old red truck. The church was small and white in an out-of-the-way field that nobody would notice if they were simply driving through the area.<p>

The graveyard itself was small, inconspicuous, and it made Rose somewhat sad just looking at it. John's hand was clutching hers tightly throughout the whole ride, and she had a feeling he wasn't just carsick. She watched him as he stared out the window with that look on his face again.

He had gotten it during lunch – that distant, zoning-out, thinking face that she was growing to know so well. She ignored it, though, and she definitely wasn't about to question him about it now. Donna was driving with Wilfred in the passenger seat, and they were talking quietly about something incomprehensible.

John looked so uncomfortable that it was practically infectious. He was sitting rigidly in his seat and his neck was bent awkwardly so that he could stare out the window whilst not moving his back. The hand that wasn't holding hers was by his side, balled up into a half-fist.

Rose licked her lips and, unable to watch him for another moment, unbuckled her seatbelt. He turned and stared at her as she scooted closer to him, gesturing for him to lean against her. John leaned his back on her side while she wrapped one of her arms around his waist. It was a bit of an awkward position, but she figured he would still want to look out the window and she wasn't about to force him to look at her.

Rose moved one of her hands to shift through his hair and he moved closer to her at the touch. She thought she heard a light humming coming from him and she had to stifle a laugh as she continued stroking his hair. She raked her fingernails lightly along his scalp and his breath caught in his throat – a gesture that had previously been intended as mollifying turning into something much more intimate much too fast.

Sensing his slight unease, she resumed what she had been doing earlier, just sorting through each brown lock. He shifted against her to get comfortable and let out a small sigh as they drove, approaching the small church slowly but surely.

"We're here," Wilfred said eventually, stretching his arms before getting out of the car.

John removed himself from Rose and got out, holding the door open for her as she followed him. "It's a beautiful church," Donna commented.

It was beautiful, in a rustic sort of way. It was made of white wood, and the paint was chipping off in a few areas to reveal a darker brown color. The nave roof was pointed and green, matching the double doors in the front.

The whole thing was symmetrical with two wings on either side, and a spacious graveyard lay adjacent to it. It didn't look as if anyone was inside the building, or even as if anyone had been inside it for the last ten years. Donna and Wilfred simply opened up the metal gate to the graveyard and walked along the dirt path beside the tombstones, staring sadly at each one.

John hadn't taken Rose's hand since they had left the car, and she hadn't taken his. She wasn't sure how he was going to handle this, though her guess was simply 'not well'. He looked thoughtful yet sad, if she was reading him right.

* * *

><p>His parents' grave was the third to last one. It was a tall and skinny tombstone, rounded at the top. <em>Claire and Jonathan Smith. Loving parents and friend to all.<em>

John felt dizzy upon reading the words felt his head starting to spin. Suddenly something akin to vertigo was inundating him and he was felt as if he was going to throw up. Without speaking, rushed off to the corner of the graveyard, where a cold metal bench was. He didn't _actually_ throw up, but he sat down and supported his head with both of his hands, scrubbing at his forehead.

Before everything had been so distant. He had tried to never think about his parents, so that whenever he did it would feel more and more detached as time went on. But now here they were, buried and rotting under the ground in the middle of nowhere with nobody to remember them except him and Donna and her family and he could barely breathe because this was all far, far too much.

It was _pressure,_ that's what he had to be feeling, he decided. He had to keep their name going – what had he been _thinking?_ He couldn't just _forget_ his family. Couldn't just leave them here year after year, decaying.

John could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate and his mind could hardly process Rose sitting down next to him and pulling him in for a tight hug. He felt like he was suffocating and he couldn't take it. It was like being trapped in a tiny room with the air running out and the walls pressing down on his back, his head, his feet, his chest…

"John," she was saying, making little shushing sounds in between her words. "John, John, you're alright."

He felt the first sobs begin to wrack his body and he wanted to get away from Rose and hide in the corner and sob and cry and wallow but he also wanted to wrap himself up in her, to accept her comfort and thank her and love her and have her love him the same way. His thoughts were conflicted but the latter won out so he just held onto her.

He was aware of Donna and Wilfred watching him in concern and he couldn't stand this, couldn't stand people seeing him when he was like this – this weak and fragile and – _oh god_ – his parents had died because of him. This was his entire fault. It was his fault. Oh, god, it was his fault.

All his fault.

He sobbed into Rose's shoulder and clutched at her, wishing he could stop but finding himself completely unable. She pat his upper back with one hand and soothed her other hand on his lower back. "It's okay," she was saying, "just let it all out, John. Yeah, you're gonna be okay."

It was such a… He didn't know what it was. A _family_ thing? A _lover_ thing? It was just such a loving gesture; he didn't know what to do with it so he just tried to thank her, words coming out in pathetic-sounding whimpers instead of clear comprehensible communication. Rose just continued to soothe him, running her hands up and down his back.

He took in a deep breath, trying desperately to calm himself but failing.

"You okay?" Rose asked, pulling away with her hands still on his shoulders and staring at him in concern. John figured he must have looked like a complete wreck – all puffy red eyes and his hair mussed up. Rose hugged him again and muttered, "Of course you're not."

He hugged her back, feeling needy and pathetic and he _knew_ Rose wouldn't dislike him for it – of course she wouldn't – but he still felt like he was being stupid amongst other things. He couldn't look at the tombstone again – didn't trust himself enough.

* * *

><p>Donna and Wilfred walked into the church, and Rose supposed it was to give her and John some privacy. She just continued holding him, listening as his breaths finally began to even out. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."<p>

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," she assured him, moving to nuzzle his nose with hers.

John rested his forehead against hers and his eyes fell shut. She thought he looked younger, somehow, with his long eyelashes and wet cheeks. "I just couldn't look at it," he said, wincing slightly. "I couldn't… I can't…"

Rose listened as he took in a shuddering breath. She hugged him again. "You don't have to talk," she assured him. "It's like I said: you don't have to explain yourself unless you want to, yeah?"

He hummed contentedly. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Rose assured him.

"I want to," John replied.

She squeezed him a little tighter. "Then you're welcome."

"That's not it, though. Thanks for coming with me. And being patient with me. And putting up with my constant zoning-out. And dealing with…" He made a vague hand gesture. "This. Thanks for being my friend and not pushing me to be more than friends before I'm ready. Thank you for knowing exactly what I need to hear and when I need to hear it. Thanks for being the best friend I've ever had. Thank you, Rose Tyler."

Rose felt tears pricking at her eyes so she wiped at them rapidly and laughed quietly and breathlessly. "You're making _me_ cry, now. That's a bit backwards."

John pulled away from her and kissed her cheek, getting rid of a pesky tear that had fallen there. Then his lips moved slowly down to hers. Their lips moved across each other leisurely, in no rush or extreme desperation. Their teeth clacked quietly as he opened up underneath her. Rose led the kiss, sensing his need for it, and crawled into his lap so that his lower back could press up against the back of the bench.

"Do you want to leave now?" Rose asked him, somewhat out of breath. "Wilfred wanted us to go to the house next. Your old house."

"Yeah," he said, swallowing. "Let's go."

"Are you sure you can?" she asked, stroking his sideburn with the pad of her thumb.

John nodded. "I think so, yeah. Thank you."

"You've already said that," Rose pointed out, smiling sweetly.

"I can't say it enough," he replied, as if it was an obvious fact – something she should know by now. And, well, it was.

Rose pecked him on the lips one more time before getting off of him, standing up, and offering him her hand. "Allons-y?"

John's face lit up. "Allons-y!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hope you enjoyed! Reviews, as always, are appreciated! Also be sure to check out all the ten minute prompts I've been doing on my Tumblr! I've been posting one daily! :D At some point I'll try to start posting them on here, but for now my schedule has been super busy so they're just on there.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **This chapter features a few flashbacks starring our favorite character Jimmy Stone. Hope you enjoy and please note that this chapter has warnings for domestic violence, mentions of rape, some dub-con kissing, and drugs. Wow, that's probably the most warnings I've ever had on something before.

* * *

><p><em>Four months ago<em>

Rose woke up to see Jimmy Stone's dark brown, beady eyes peering down at her. "You up?"

She groaned sleepily and rolled onto her stomach. "Yeah, I'm up."

"Good." He turned and walked away from the bed.

Rose sat up, pulling the duvet up with her to cover her body. She felt around on the bed for her bra. "Jimmy, where are my clothes?" she complained, rubbing at her eyes with one hand.

He gave her a cheeky smile before turning around and resuming whatever it was that he had been originally doing.

Rose rolled her eyes, honestly not in the mood for that sort of behavior this morning. He should know by now that she wasn't a morning person. "Just give them to me," she protested.

"Do you want a beer?" he asked instead, opening up the fridge and pulling one out for her before she could even reply.

"Isn't it too early for beer?" She glanced over at the clock. "It's eleven in the morning and I've already got a hangover."

He scoffed. "Never too early for beer, Rosie."

She gave him a small smile and picked up the beer, popping it open with the bottle opener from the nightstand and keeping the duvet firmly wrapped around her chest. "So, where are my clothes?"

"Bathroom," he said, jerking his head towards the bathroom door.

Rose frowned at him and realized what he was up to. He leaned back in his chair, sipping the beer and nodding towards the bathroom once again, a challenging look on his face.

She didn't want to indulge him, but she didn't see much of a choice unless she wanted to drag the duvet with her. Rose got out of the bed, and heard him snicker as he watched her walk to the bathroom. She could feel his eyes roaming her body as she stepped through the door and shut it behind her.

What she hadn't expected was what she saw in the mirror.

There was a slightly painful throbbing in her lower abdomen, which wasn't anything surprising after a drunken night with Jimmy. Her memories were pretty hazy – she remembered taking shot after shot upon his insistence.

She didn't remember coming back to his flat, but knowing Jimmy he had probably had at least four orgasms before collapsing beside her unconcious, probably just assuming that she had climaxed, too.

But what really shocked her was the hand-shaped bruise on her left ribs. She ran her fingers along it and winced. It was fresh, very fresh – and painful, too. Rose picked up her pile of clothes from the floor and put them on before touching the bruise through the fabric of her shirt. It hurt like hell.

She stepped out of the bathroom. "Jimmy, what time did we get back last night?" she asked.

"Two, maybe," he said, shrugging. "I don't know, does it matter?"

"No, I guess not," Rose said, grabbing her beer from the nightstand before sitting down at the kitchen table. "I just don't remember anything."

"You were really drunk," he explained, smiling at her as if that was a great accomplishment to be proud of. "_Wasted._"

"From what I _do_ remember," she said, walking towards him, "so were you. But how did I get this?"

She pointed toward her side and he frowned. "That shirt? How should I know?"

Rose shook her head and lifted up her shirt just enough for him to see the bruise. "That."

He shook his head, giving her a look that clearly said _why does it matter_? He rubbed at his forehead. "I don't know. Things might have gotten rough in bed."

"I don't even remember getting into bed with you," she argued. "Much less having sex with you."

"Like I said," Jimmy said, pulling out his phone and reading a text, rolling his eyes as if she wouldn't notice. "You were wasted."

Rose shut her eyes, trying to control her temper. "Was I passed out?"

"What?" he asked.

"When we had sex? Was I conscious, Jimmy?" Rose asked more slowly this time, desperate to get her question through his thick skull.

He laughed a little as he began typing on his phone. "Does it matter?"

She frowned, opening her eyes. "Of _course_ it matters. You can't do that when I'm passed out."

"I was _drunk,_ Rosie." He rolled his eyes. "Did all those drinks make you stupid or something? I obviously couldn't think it through when I was pissed. Sorry about the bruise. I've got to get going – there's a gig this afternoon out of the city."

He grabbed his jacket off of a chair. Rose felt pathetic, she didn't know what to say or do so she just stood there fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "Um… Sorry for getting upset," she said after a moment.

"It's whatever," he said, waving his hand. "I'll see you later, Rosie."

Then he was gone, so she sat down on the bed and allowed herself to cry into her palms, each sob making the pain in her ribs explode unbearably. But she felt like she deserved that.

* * *

><p><em>Present<em>

They were driving down the road to John's old house, the ride was silent and in the back seat Rose was holding him against her chest. She had tugged him against her the moment they had gotten into the car and he had been in no state to argue, having just bawled his eyes out and thoroughly embarrassed himself.

Well, he hadn't _really_ embarrassed himself.

He just hadn't wanted Rose to see that. Hadn't wanted to break down at all, really. He hadn't thought that seeing the grave would be that difficult.

Woops.

One of her hands was sorting through his hair; something that she had done during the previous ride and that he hoped with every cell of his being would develop into a habit. His eyes fell shut in pleasure while he considered the fact that this might be what heaven consisted of. He prayed that Donna wouldn't look in the rearview mirror and call him a nutter.

Rose's other hand was on his side, her thumb moving up and down across the fabric of his shirt in an almost mesmerizing pattern that he could only feel if he focused very hard on doing so. There were so many things that he had to say to her and an even larger plethora of things that he had to think through, to determine, to catalogue, to understand.

But for now he just wanted to take advantage of the moment, so he shifted against her slightly, getting more comfortable and eliminating any space possible between them.

* * *

><p>"It's a little far away. Maybe another hour or so," Donna said loud enough for Rose to hear in the back seat.<p>

Rose smiled. "Okay."

She looked down at John snuggled up against her side. He wasn't moving – hadn't moved for a few minutes. "John? Are you asleep?" she whispered.

There was no reply.

Rose laughed quietly and ruffled his hair one last time before moving her hands from his head to her lap. When he shuffled uncomfortably at the lack of her touch, she started sorting through his hair again, and he was content once again.

His hair really was lovely, she thought. It was chestnut brown and as she ran her fingers through individual locks she could see peeks of darker shades at his roots. Rose experimentally moved her nails along his scalp and he almost immediately spoke in his sleep – mumbling an incoherent string of words.

"What was that, John?" Rose teased quiet enough for Donna and Wilfred to not hear.

John, of course, didn't reply. Rose moved her hand from the top of his head to the shorter hairs on the back of his neck and he hummed slightly, shifting again.

She settled for leaving her hand there and gently caressing him whilst leaning her head against his and letting her own eyes fall shut. She wasn't exhausted – she'd gotten quite a bit of sleep last night – but it was comfortable and relaxing just being next to him so she stayed there anyways.

* * *

><p>Light seeped into his vision and he grimaced. There was something warm against him, along with a mild ache in his neck. He forced his eyes open and moved away from whatever he was against, only to figure out that it was Rose.<p>

"Morning, sleepy-head," she said in a cheeky tone before ruffling his hair affectionately.

He had been… Oh, right. They had been at the grave, now they were driving to the house. During the ride, he had… Oh, blimey.

"Did I fall asleep on you?" he blurted.

Rose nodded, gauging his reaction and biting her lower lip.

John felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks and he ran a hand through his hair. "Um, sorry about that."

"No need to be sorry," Rose assured him, squeezing his arm. "We're almost there, though, so it's good you woke up. About five more minutes."

Five more minutes? It was an hour-long trip, so he had probably been sleeping on her shoulder for fifty minutes. Great.

He was surprised when he felt Rose kissing him firmly on the lips – it was chaste but still capable of giving him a heart attack. "What was that for?" he asked.

"You're _adorable_ when you sleep," she explained, drawling out the second word in a way that made him scrunch up his nose.

He huffed. "I'm not adorable. I'm masculine. Virile, really."

"Oh, yeah, _definitely,_" Rose said in a tone that was far too sarcastic for his liking.

He pouted – _not_ that that was what he thought of it as, of course – and looked straight ahead at the back of the driver's seat. Rose pulled him in for a hug and he couldn't keep up the mirage of being upset so he just wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her before keeping her hand in his grip and grinning at her.

* * *

><p>"We're here," Donna called back to them.<p>

They got out of the car and Rose stared at the house in front of her. It was beautiful – a sort of rustic splendor that was exhibited through ivy hanging down from the white windowsills and peeking out between the bright red bricks. The wooden door was chipped and looked as if it was falling off the hinge, but it was still standing.

The roof was black and gray and it looked to be two stories. The yard in front of it was surprisingly large. Without prior knowledge, Rose would have never guessed that a fire had occurred there and killed two people. She had expected a big pile of bricks – not an actual structure. "How come nobody's moved into it?" she asked Wilfred.

"I don't know," he replied. "It was on the market for a while, but then I suppose the bank gave up on it. Nobody wanted to fix it up to make it lively again, and it's not as if it's in a popular area, so they just left it here."

Rose saw John walk up beside her in her peripheral vision. He nodded towards a forest beside the house. "I used to spend a lot of time running around those woods as a kid," he said, voice tight. "Always used to think I was a ninja."

The image of a floppy-haired boy sprinting through the woods, leaping over logs and climbing up trees, scraping his hands in the process, flashed through her mind. She laughed a little, glancing at him.

"I remember those days," Donna said reminiscently, shaking her head. "He built a fort out there and said he was going to live in it."

John shrugged. "In my defense, it _was _a nice fort."

They all walked towards the house, and the door creaked open when Wilfred lightly pushed at it. Rose glanced around the foyer. It was unfurnished, though a few things were left behind – there were scattered pieces of paper and some litter on the ground. There were burn marks all over, but she didn't say anything about them.

"People must have come by here before," John mused, picking up a piece of trash and scowling. "Stupid kids who wanted a place to get high or something."

Rose brushed her fingers along the wall, stopping at an empty picture frame, which was near several others that looked exactly the same.

John looked at her. "My mother painted."

She licked her lips and nodded, before continuing down the hall. It was a rather large house – at least, compared to the tiny flat she was used to – and she could see how it could have been beautiful when it had been livelier. In the kitchen, she could see the spot that the fridge had been and a beat up white table.

Donna and Wilfred had gone to look through the contents of the living room while John and Rose stayed in the kitchen.

John was touching the table lightly, an intense look on his face. She didn't understand what he was doing until she stepped closer and saw the burn marks on it – how the wood was chafing off in all the black spots.

"When the house burned down, it was the deprivation of oxygen that killed them," John said quietly. "The firemen came and put out the flames quickly. I overheard the police saying, once…" He winced slightly and Rose grabbed his hand without hesitation. He let out a deep breath and continued. "I wasn't supposed to hear this – I was just a kid, but they said that… If they'd gotten there ten minutes earlier, they probably would have lived."

"John," Rose mumbled, pulling him against her for a hug, not quite sure of what else to do.

They stood like that for a while before he pulled away. "Want to look upstairs?"

She gave him a small, encouraging smile and nodded.

The first door in the upstairs hallway was dark blue, a large portion of it burned. John threw the door open and smiled, walking inside. "This was my bedroom," he said, looking around appreciatively.

It looked a lot like his current bedroom – it was certainly messy enough to be so, even without furniture. Rose walked up to a large circular window on the far wall and looked outside. There was a perfect view of a pond in the distance and she could see the tops of most of the trees.

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head and looking out the window with her. "There used to be a family of rabbits who lived right over there." John grasped and guided her hand to point in a vague direction. "I used to watch them every day. Sometimes I'd write down what they'd do. Donna always teased me about it – said it was boring."

"Why would you do that?" Rose asked, wishing she could see his face but not wanting to move at the same time.

"It would ground me," he explained. "Whenever I was upset about something or angry, I could watch the rabbits. I saw them going about, doing whatever it was rabbits did day after day, and I don't know, I guess it just reminded me that my miniscule problems weren't the end of the world."

She laughed quickly. "You were one philosophical ten year old."

He hummed. "That I was."

They were silent for a moment.

"I read once that rabbits have sex three times a day," Rose said.

"Thanks for ruining my childhood memories, Rose."

She spun him around in her arms and pecked him on the lips. "Anytime."

* * *

><p><em>Four months ago<em>

"Hey, Jimmy, you're back early," Rose said, smiling at him from her spot on the couch.

He slammed the door forcefully after stepping inside. "You're still here?"

Her smile faded. "I didn't want to go home and face Mum. Are you all right?"

"The gig was a wreck," Jimmy stated, scrubbing a hand down his face. "A complete disaster."

"What happened?" Rose muted the television. He sat down next to her on the couch and she scooted a little closer to him, grabbing his hands.

He sighed in frustration and pulled his hands away. "I don't want to talk about it." Jimmy looked at her and moved his arms to her back, pulling her into his lap and crashing his lips down on hers.

Rose reciprocated, running one of her hands wildly through his hair and keeping the other firmly pressed on his back. "Jimmy?" she asked, out of breath.

"Don't talk," he ordered before kissing her again.

His tongue slipped into her mouth and his hands were making their way to her arse. His chest moved against hers as he straddled her on the couch, nipping at her bottom lip. Rose gasped lightly beneath him.

"Jimmy," Rose mumbled as he kissed his way down her neck.

He began sucking hard on her pulse point and she pushed him off of her, almost sending him stumbling to the floor. "What's that for?" he asked irritably, eyebrows drawn together.

"You'll leave a mark if you do it that hard," Rose complained, shaking her head.

"So what?" Jimmy asked, resuming what he was doing and latching his hands onto her shoulders.

* * *

><p>When they finally reached Donna's flat, Donna and Wilfred went off to bed almost immediately, leaving John and Rose on the living room couch while a rerun of <em>Friends<em> played on in the background.

"You look tired," Rose noted, tracing the lines underneath his eyes with her index finger.

He smiled. "I probably look it more than I feel it. Do you want to go somewhere?"

Rose sighed and snuggled against him, one of her fists weakly bunching up the fabric of his shirt. "Dunno, I'm pretty comfy here."

"We could get a drink?" he suggested, leaning his head on top of hers.

Rose got off of him and stood up, stretching her arms. "Yeah, okay."

As soon as they were halfway to the pub, John felt his coat pockets. "I forgot my wallet," he said regretfully, looking over his shoulder at Donna's flat.

Rose laughed. "I'll pay. Cheap date you are, though." He grinned at her and she grabbed his hand, swinging it as they walked.

BREAK

"So, Rose Tyler," John said, leaning his elbow on the counter. "Come here often?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Could you _be_ cheesier?"

He looked offended. "Of course I could!" John thought for a moment. "If you were a fruit, you'd be a _fineapple."_

Rose groaned. "I cannot _stand_ bad pick-up lines."

"Can I have your number? I seem to have lost mine," John said, face breaking out into a smile. Rose just rolled her eyes again, accepting a drink from the man behind the counter. "If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" John winked at her.

For that one, she whacked him on the arm.

"Oi!" he complained, rubbing at his arm while she stuck her tongue out at him.

Rose looked over her shoulder at the crowd forming in the middle of the room. "Want to dance?"

John scrunched up his nose. "I don't exactly, uh, _dance._"

"In which way?" she asked innocently, though the impish glint in her eyes gave her away.

He sighed in mock frustration. "You only have one objective on your mind at all times, Rose Tyler."

Rose simply kissed him on the cheek and then stood up, offering him her hand. "Come on, just dance with me. One dance."

He shook his head. "You'll have to get me to drink quite a lot more before I'll dance," he said, emphasizing the last word.

Rose gave him a suggestive look before sitting down again. "That so?"

He hummed, taking another sip of his drink. "But good luck. I can hold my alcohol."

"Let's play a game," Rose decided, pursing her lips.

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "What kind of game?"

"I'll ask you something, and you've gotta answer it and take a shot. Then we switch."

John laughed. "Not much of a game – there's no winner."

Rose shrugged. "Do you want to go first?"

He set down his glass and rubbed his hands together. "Alright, I'll go first. What's your middle name?"

She bit her lip and looked at the table.

"Roseeee," he complained in a singsong tone. "You _just_ said that you _have_ to answer it. Your rules, not mine."

"I don't like my middle name," she complained.

"It can't be that bad."

She sighed. "Marion."

John considered that. "Rose Marion Tyler. I like it. Maybe I'll just start calling you Marion now."

She placed her forehead on the bar dramatically. "Spare me."

"Okay, fine," he agreed, "not Marion… But something. What about… Rosie?"

She looked up, wide-eyed.

He frowned. "What? Not Rosie? I think it's kind of endearing."

Rose shut her eyes and shook her head. "Nothing, it's just…" She let out a breath and composed herself. "Let's just stick with Rose, yeah?"

He gave a playful pout. "If you insist. Anyways – it's your turn."

* * *

><p><em>Two months ago<em>

"Rosie, wake up," Jimmy urged, pushing her side in a manner that was anything but gentle.

Her eyes opened and she stared up at him. "What time is it?"

He massaged his temples with both hands. "We've got to get out of here or… I don't know, something. Someone just rang me and told me the police are on their way here."

She bolted upright. "What for? How the hell did they know the police are coming?"

"The drugs, Rose," he hissed, as if it was obvious. "They're probably outside the building now. Fucking shit," he muttered as he grasped the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles turning a pale while.

"Drugs?" Rose asked, scrambling out of the bed and starting to put on her clothes. "What drugs do you keep in here? You told me this place was clean."

"Weed," he explained, "I was holding it for a mate. It's here, in the bathroom."

"Flush it down the toilet!" Rose commanded, pulling her shirt over her head whilst walking towards the bathroom. "Why the hell were you holding drugs for someone, Jimmy? In _this _building? You know how strict they are here, are you stupid?"

Jimmy marched up to her and his hand hovered near her cheek. He glared at her and released a string of curses. "I'd slap you, you _bitch,_ if the police weren't about to come in. Now, help me flush the weed."

They flushed the tiny bag down the toilet before carefully turning off the lights and leaving the bathroom the way it had been before. Then, Rose lay down on the couch and began to watch telly, her heart thundering in her chest as she did so. Jimmy was making tea in the kitchen, trying to act casual.

Then there was a loud knock on the door. "This is the police. Open up, please."

* * *

><p><em>Present<em>

"You, John Smith, are properly sloshed," Rose said, her tongue poking out between her teeth.

Blimey, she was sexy.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, running a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes then opened them. Her tongue was still there, in plain sight. It was licking her lips now and he felt the room spinning slightly.

"Eyes up here, John," Rose said, and he darted his eyes up towards her.

"I know that," he stated, nodding his head as if to convince himself. "Alright, it's your turn for the game."

She thought for a moment. "How often do you wank?"

He gaped at her and that god-awful tongue made an appearance once again as she laughed. "What kind of a question is that?"

"You have to answer it," Rose sang playfully, resting her hand on his forearm.

He looked down at where she was touching him and felt his mind blissfully blur. Everything felt and sounded as if he was underwater, and it was brilliant, really. He hadn't done this in ages. Sure, he'd had alcohol before, but this was different in _so many ways._

The main difference being that Rose was here. God, he loved her.

"Once a week or so, but it's always changing," he answered, giving a nonchalant shrug but feeling the tips of his ears turn pink anyways. He couldn't be bothered to care.

Rose burst out into laughter, removing her hand from his arm. "Once a week?!"

He frowned. "Is that too much or too little?"

"It's not, it's just…" She wiped at her left eye. "I can't picture you doing it, is all."

She couldn't picture him doing it? Was it something she'd tried to picture before? He reached for his glass but it duplicated it front of his eyes and he figured he had had plenty to drink so he pushed it away from him instead and asked the man behind the counter for some water, surprised at hearing his own words slurring slightly.

The last of Rose's giggles subsided and she stood up. "Want to dance, now?"

Earlier, when he had suggested that she would have to get him far more intoxicated for him to dance, he had been kidding. He had started drinking with the resolve that no matter how much he drank, there was _no way_ he was going to embarrass himself by dancing with her. No way.

But that stupid tongue of hers was making him throw caution to the wind so he smiled, grabbed her hand, and let her pull him out into the middle of the crowd. The song that was playing had no words – it was just a quick, piercing beat.

Rose gave him a mischievous grin as she started to dance, moving her hips in the most distracting way possible whilst enjoying the slack-jawed look on his face. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hands, encouraging him to move with her, and soon they had found a rhythm of sorts.

He felt as though without her near him, he would most likely collapse or knock something over, so he stayed close to her at all times. At some point, she had turned around and pressed his back firmly against her chest, encouraging him to wrap his hands around her to keep her there.

Her bum was touching places that it most definitely should not be touching – or that it most definitely _should_ be touching – he couldn't really remember, honestly – but either way it was very, _very_ distracting. He slid his hands to her stomach and she could practically feel the cold of them even through the fabric of her dress, so she ground into him slightly, making him arch his hips forward involuntarily.

Rose noted a few people in the pub starting to pay them special attention, so she spun around in his arms and gave him a cheeky grin. "We should get out of here."

He found himself unable to focus on his words – instead captivated by her lips and her eyes and her hair and his erection digging into her hip bone and the fact that she wasn't caring or doing anything about it at all.

Later, he would realize how stupid he had probably looked with his rumpled suit, messy hair, half-closed eyelids and stupidly huge smirk, but at the moment he couldn't be bothered to worry about anything except getting all of her clothes off. As quickly as possible, if not quicker.

He half-processed Rose grabbing his hand and weaving them through the crowd, noting a few whistles from nearby blokes. When they finally made it outside, the cold air hit him like a slap to the face and he found himself with his palms pressed hard against the wall, hard enough to leave cuts that he would find later, and his lips against Rose's.

She tasted like alcohol and probably some other stuff that his mind didn't have the capacity of processing in that particular moment.

Rose's hands began plucking his suit buttons and there were so many things, _so many things _that he should be doing, thinking, saying, wondering.

He could have been thinking up Shakespeare verses, anagramming something, wondering about a scientific theory or calculating variables in his head. He could have been noticing the little things – the way her fingers brushed through his hair like she was anchoring herself to him or the way that her breath puffed against his, mingling and mixing.

He could have thought about her heart beating hard against his chest – or, better yet, the way her breasts felt squished up against him. He could have thought about how meticulously she must have applied her makeup that morning or the extent of his love for her and how he could possibly put it into words.

But instead of any of that, instead of anything in the grand scheme of his potential thoughts, he focused on moving his hands up and down her body, kissing her everywhere that he could from his current position.

Later, though, he would think back on this moment.

A man named Brian Greene once wrote a book called the Hidden Reality. He talked about parallel universes. John had read it several times before, loving the idea of multiple universes ever since he was a kid.

Greene had once said, "And in each universe, there's a copy of you witnessing one or the other outcome, thinking — incorrectly — that your reality is the only reality."

John pitied every parallel version of himself that hadn't gotten to make out with Rose Tyler against a dirty brick wall outside an old pub with his hands sneaking up her dress. Never had he felt more blessed for making the decisions that he had in life that had led, specifically, to this moment.

And it was a breathtakingly beautiful thing, really, to be the lucky one for once.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Love it? Hate it? Leave me a review and tell me! :D


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Really nervous about this chapter so be sure to leave a review! Keep in mind that you can read this story on Whofic and my Tumblr as well! :D Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Kissing Rose Tyler was sort of like thinking there was an extra step on the bottom of a staircase and then having your foot slam on the ground.<p>

It made your heart pump, your mind go totally blank, and it _always_ caught you impossibly off guard.

He felt the back of his head press painfully against the brick wall of the building as his body tingled with bliss, fully aware of her hand cupping his erection through his trousers.

"We can't do this here," Rose complained into his ear, ducking her nose into his shoulder but keeping her hand where it was in its very, very distracting position.

He moved her head to kiss her hard, tongue slipping into her mouth and his hands tangling in her mess of blonde hair. Her hand on his erection tightened and he let out a breathy gasp, feeling as though his chest was about to pound so hard he would tear in half.

"Rose," he mumbled, thrusting his hips into her hand slowly and his eyes shut tight. "Fuck, Rose, oh _fuck._"

"John, we can't do this here," she repeated, her voice a bit more serious.

But the alcohol was buzzing pleasantly in his head so he just hummed and opened his eyes blearily. "What?"

Rose glanced around. "In public," she explained. "We're going to get arrested."

He groaned in complaint and thrust himself into her hand one final time before she pulled away and grabbed his hand. His erection was throbbing to the point where it was almost painful but he walked beside her, gripping her hand hard in fear that if he didn't he'd face-plant on the grey pavement.

"Flat?" John asked, allowing her to lead him.

Rose nodded and he kissed her hard again in the middle of the sidewalk, wavering on his feet slightly but managing to keep his balance. The people walking had to maneuver around them so Rose pulled them to the side so the shadows could provide a modicum of cover.

Their teeth clacked loudly and his hands roamed her thighs through her dress, slowly making their way up. "John," Rose sighed, her head tilted back to give him access to her neck. "You're not making this easy, you know."

"Why?" he asked, making his way down her exposed neck and breathing in the scent of her perfume, the sweet, sweet scent mixed with Rose that made him feel the remainder of his control slipping – if there was any left to start with. "Don't you want to?"

"I do," Rose insisted, her hands clutching his head to keep his lips where they were on her neck. He started sucking on her pulse point and she stumbled a little on her next sentence. "But you're drunk, and you said just a few days ago that you wanted to – oh, _fuck,_ John."

He moved his hand from her breast back to her hip and looked into her eyes, mustering all the seriousness he could to put it into his expression. "I want this, Rose. I've wanted it since…" He paused for a moment before shaking his head. "Forever. I've always wanted it."

She kissed him again, but it was far too brief for his liking. "We agreed to wait, a few days ago, remember?"

He hummed affirmation, hands now placed firmly on her hipbones. "Don't want to wait," he muttered in response.

"John," Rose said apologetically, kissing the corner of his lips and offering a small smile. "If you still want to tomorrow, we will. Okay?"

John searched her eyes but eventually nodded slowly. He gave her a small smile as she offered him her hand once again and they started walking towards the flat.

* * *

><p>"I <em>cannot <em>stand hangovers," John complained to Rose the next morning, rubbing at his forehead with four fingers.

Rose rolled over in the bed – their bed, since there was only one spare room in Donna and Wilfred's flat and, although John had been planning to take the couch, she had brought him to the bed last night and he had passed out immediately.

He still wasn't sure why she hadn't let him sleep on the couch – everything was still pretty fuzzy in his head. He hoped he hadn't been adamant on sleeping in the same bed as her, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live something like that down.

"Breakfast will help," she said, throwing a pillow at his face.

John just groaned again and rolled onto his stomach. "Everything hurts."

"Oh, don't be a baby," Rose teased, her tongue-touched smile vanishing instantly when he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down onto the bed beside him, tickling her ribs with his fingers. "John!" she yelped, trying to keep herself as quiet as possible in case Wilfred or Donna was still sleeping. "Unfair! You know I'm ticklish!"

He stopped and pulled her in for a kiss instead, though it didn't last long since she had to pull away to catch her breath. "Who's the baby now?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

Rose quirked an eyebrow and kissed his nose. "Still you."

John let her pillow her head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her, nuzzling his nose into her hair and taking in a deep breath. "I don't want to go back to London," he complained, shutting his eyes. "School just… Sounds awful, really."

"We're going to have midterms when we get back," she reminded him, scrunching up her nose. "I'll fail all of them."

He shook his head. "No you won't. Not when you have the most brilliant tutor possible."

"Really? Who's that, then?" she asked in a mock confused tone, causing him to tickle her again, which quickly lead to much more kissing.

* * *

><p>"Good morning," Wilfred said to John and Rose as they walked into the kitchen, smiles on their faces.<p>

"Good morning," Rose replied cheerfully, holding John's hand and walking towards the table.

"The food smells great," John said to Donna who was currently cooking pancakes and giving him a strange look.

"You? Complimenting _my_ cooking? Rose, could you look outside the window? Pigs are probably flying – you should get a picture.

John rolled his eyes and Rose laughed, lowering her head onto his shoulder. He stroked her hair and stared at Donna. "I've complimented your cooking before."

"Name one time," Donna challenged.

He sighed. "That's hardly fair. Couldn't you just say, I don't know, _thank you?_"

Donna smiled. "Thank you."

"The memorial party is at three today," Wilfred said, taking a sip of tea. "Do you two want to go out to lunch before hand?"

John turned to Rose to consult her. She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

* * *

><p>Rose entered their temporary bedroom only to see John lying on the bed, his white laptop in his lap and his eyebrows adorably drawn together as he focused on something and typed, fingers flying across the keys. She could see his lips moving slowly, saying every word that he was typing.<p>

She leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching him, before clearing her throat loudly. He startled and almost hit the back of his head on the headboard of the bed. "You scared me," he stated as he readjusted himself and shut the laptop.

"What were you working on?" she asked, shutting the door before sitting down on the edge of the bed and swinging her legs.

John allowed her to tug him by the arm to sit next to her, leaving his laptop behind, and shrugged. "Just something for school."

She pulled him in for a kiss and he slid one arm around her back to keep her steady in her precarious position on the edge of the bed whilst using the other one to cup her cheek. Rose moaned quietly when his tongue slipped into her mouth, and he chuckled in the back of his throat.

"I remember what we said yesterday," he said, pulling away and licking his lips. "About waiting."

Rose grinned. "Really? You were sort of loopy."

He hummed, kissing her hairline. "Oh yeah. I definitely remember."

"And you still…?" she asked, worrying her lower lip.

"Yeah," he said, giving her a big smile.

He wasn't quite sure what had gotten into him, but all he knew was that this – being with her like this – was perfect and felt right and it was all he'd ever really wanted. If he had a million pounds beside him, he'd brush them to the side and take Rose Tyler instead.

He'd always been a giver, not a receiver, but he wanted this more than any Christmas present or anything the world could offer. He wanted all of it, every last bit of it, the bad and the good, as long as she was there.

There wasn't a single doubt in his mind anymore, and he wasn't sure if the previous night had provided him with some sort of drunken epiphany or if he just hadn't needed much time to work things out, but whatever it was, he honestly couldn't bring himself to care.

She was so gorgeous _just sitting here_ – she was _always_ just so gorgeous – and his heart was pounding a little but he was all right with that, because it was Rose, and he was comfortable with her.

He trusted her more than he trusted anyone else – more than he trusted himself. He'd already laid his entire self in front of her, so what more was this? What more was sex? Sure, it would be amazing, and quite honestly, he was still terrified and shaking all the way to the marrow of his bones, but he was still comfortable.

Perhaps that was a bit contradicting, but now wasn't really the time to worry about his conflicting emotions. God knows he'd done enough of that in the past when it came to her. Maybe he'd just reached his stress limit, and maybe this was the wild, insane drop on the rollercoaster that had been going up, up, up for so long.

Rose pushed him by his shoulders so he was lying back down on the bed. She straddled his legs with her own and he swallowed, kissing her again by lifting up his neck as much as he could given the position.

One of her hands slipped up his shirt and began exploring his chest – starting at his abdomen and making its way all the way to his pectorals. Her other hand was tangled in his hair and her fingernails were sorting their way through each strand and he let out a quiet moan, so quiet he wasn't sure if she had heard it, or if he had ever really made it in the first place.

"You two ready for lunch?" Donna's voice called from the hallway.

John cursed under his breath and turned his head to bury it into the cyan pillow.

"Yeah, just a minute," he called to Donna, voice bitter.

Rose frowned and kissed him one last time before getting off of the bed and grabbing her phone. "Bad timing, I guess," she said.

He nodded and rubbed at his forehead before looking down at his obvious, full erection. "What am I supposed to do about this?"

"Less tight jeans would be a start," Rose teased, tongue poking out between her teeth. She tossed a long blue jacket at him.

"You said you liked my tight jeans," he huffed, slipping his arms through the sleeves of the jacket.

Rose walked over to him, moved her right hand to his left thigh so that her wrist was brushing the bulge in the jeans just so, and squeezed lightly. "You _know_ I love them."

John's eyes fluttered shut and shook his head slowly, taking in a sharp breath. "You are so _not_ helping my problem."

Rose grinned mischievously and walked out of the room, an extra sway in her hips.

* * *

><p>When lunch was over, they headed back to the flat to get ready for the memorial. It was taking place at the same beat-down church with the graveyard they had visited the day before, and Wilfred had said that he guessed around thirty people would be there – friends, family members, and coworkers.<p>

"Is this okay?" Rose asked, looking down at her simple outfit, a black skirt and a white sweater.

John smiled. "You look great. This isn't anything too formal, I don't think – just a get together, really."

"You look good, too," Rose said, smoothing her hands down his chest. He was wearing a white button-up shirt and black trousers. "We're matching, actually."

He hummed and kissed her gently. Rose deepened it by moving her fingers to his hair and pulling him closer towards her. John's hands moved to the hem of her skirt and moved up it a few centimeters before staying still. "I want to take this skirt off of you," he mumbled into her ear.

Rose blushed bright pink and took his wrists in her hands, putting them back at his sides. "Down, tiger. We've got to get going in twenty minutes."

John pouted and she just rolled her eyes good-naturedly before walking towards the bathroom. "I'm going to fix my makeup."

He sat down on the side of the bed and looked at her. "It doesn't need fixing."

She just laughed at that and sat down in front of the mirror before taking some sort of brush into his hand – he wasn't experienced with makeup, honestly – and bringing it close to her eye with precision.

"That looks really hard," he commented.

Rose nodded, glancing at him through the mirror. "It is. Believe it or not, though, art skills help with makeup."

"You don't _need_ makeup, you know," he said after a moment of silence, shifting his feet against the floor.

She bit her lower lip and smiled at him. "That's sweet, but I promise, I look like a wreck without it."

John's eyebrows shot up. "I've seen you without makeup before."

Rose laughed. "Rarely. There's a reason for that."

"Rose, you're beautiful without makeup, and I'm not just saying that so you don't hit me," John said, standing up and leaning on the doorway to the bathroom.

He thought he was annoying her for a second by the way she didn't reply, and he thought she was going to tell him to leave the room so she could finish.

But then she stood up and pulled him into a warm, tight hug, ducking her nose into his shoulder. John was confused but he wrapped his arms around her back anyways, squeezing her.

It took him a moment to notice the way her body was trembling slightly. John pulled away and searched her puffy red eyes with tears forming in the bottoms. "Rose, you're crying," he stated, confused. No tears had fallen, but it was clear that they were about to. He cupped her cheek with one hand.

She nodded and ducked her head, worrying her lower lip. "Sorry, I just…"

"Don't be sorry," he said. "But why?"

Rose took his wrist and moved his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles. "It's nothing, sorry, I'm being over emotional."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she sat in front of the mirror again and began dabbing at her eyes. "You go ask Donna what shoes you should wear, I'll be out in a minute," Rose said.

John looked at her for a moment longer before leaving the bedroom. "Donna?"

"Someone's dressed up," Donna said, smiling and walking down the hall towards him before ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Something really weird just happened," he said in a quiet voice, starting to walk down the hallway with her.

Donna frowned. "What?"

"I was talking to Rose, and she just started crying."

Donna stopped walking and glared at him. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing bad!" he promised, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left and then back again. "I think they were happy tears. Yeah, I'm sure they were."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Could have said that right away. Was about to hit you. What'd you say to her?"

He shrugged. "Something about her makeup."

Donna made a hand motion that clearly said 'elaborate'.

"I said that she looked good without makeup, and then she just started crying and hugged me," John said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I don't speak, um…"

"Girl?" Donna suggested.

He nodded sadly.

Donna rolled her eyes, but there was a small, slanted smile on her lips. She put her hand on his arm. "It's because that was a sweet thing to say, you dumbo."

"Yeah, it was _nice,_ but why would she…" he started, but Donna had clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I don't think you get it," Donna said gently. "From what she's told me, nobody's ever said stuff like that to her before. Her dating history is about as bad as your figure."

"Oi!"

Donna waved a hand. "My point is, John, you don't get that _nobody_ has ever been nice to her like that before. _Romantic,_ I mean. That prat Jimmy probably never once told her she was pretty, much less pretty without her makeup."

John stiffened slightly, ready to argue. "But she is…"

"I know, John," Donna interrupted. "It's not fair at all, but it's alright because she's got you now, yeah?" After a moment he nodded. "So promise me that once you marry that girl you'll tell her she's beautiful every single day," Donna folded her arms across her chest, and her eyes were setting a challenge.

He nodded. "Of course I will. But it's not like it's guaranteed that we'll actually get…"

Donna laughed. "The way you two look at each other? It's guaranteed. If not marriage, you'll at least be together until you die."

John pursed his lips, not wanting to tread on that topic any more. "I'll treat her well."

Donna hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, laughing when he pretended to grimace. "I know you will, spaceman. Now, ready to get going?"

"Rose told me to ask you what shoes I should wear." He glanced down at his red Converse. "I guess she'd rather I don't wear these to a memorial."

"We've got something somewhere, I'm sure," Donna said, walking down the hall.

* * *

><p>"This is way more than thirty people," Rose whispered to John, her fingers entwined with his.<p>

He hummed. "My parents were popular people."

The moment they stepped out of the car, it was as though they were Leonardo DeCaprio and the car was a limousine outside the Oscars. People crowded around and began hugging John, Wilfred, and Donna, and started introducing themselves to and hugging Rose as well.

Rose's head was dizzy from desperately trying to remember around twenty names by the time John made his way back to her side and smiled at her warmly.

"Some of your relatives look like you," she mumbled, looking at a young boy with brown hair that reminded her of him. Rose smiled warmly.

"That's my cousin," he said, noting her staring. "But yeah, my mother's side of the family's genetics are strong, I guess."

Rose squeezed his hand. "He has your exact same hair. That's so cute."

He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, he sort of does."

BREAK

Rose met several more people before it was time for the service in the church. There was a priest there, or some other type of religious figure, but he wasn't exactly doing anything, just sort of standing near the podium and watching everyone with a solemn expression.

They started doing speeches about John's parents and Rose gripped his hand extra hard, knowing that he had been offered to do a speech a few days ago.

He had told her that he wasn't sure what there was to say – that most of it had already been said, whether it was in his head or out loud.

Wilfred went, and a woman that Rose figured was John's grandmother went, and then a few of his older cousins. When it was Donna's turn to speak, John ducked his head away from Rose in the middle of the speech so she wouldn't see him tear up. This felt far more like a funeral than a memorial, but Rose figured there wasn't exactly a guidebook for these sorts of things.

Rose moved an arm around his waist and he put his hand on it, keeping it there. She rested her head on his shoulder and listened to his quiet sniffling while he tried to withhold tears, wishing there was more she could do.

* * *

><p>The car ride back was quiet, and as soon as they got to the flat they packed up their things and were ready to head back to London.<p>

At the train station, they all hugged and said their goodbyes. Wilfred promised that if they ever wanted to visit, they could – either of them, whatever the reason or occasion may be. Donna had hugged her and reminded her in a whisper to, as she so eloquently put it, slap Jimmy Stone and toss him in the trash like a crumpled up piece of paper.

"Here's my phone number," Donna said, writing it down on a piece of paper and handing it to Rose. "Call me sometime, yeah?"

Rose smiled. "Yeah, of course."

They hugged again, but this time it felt less like a friendly thing and more like a sister thing. Rose liked that quite a bit.

* * *

><p>She fell asleep during the train ride and John woke her up by lightly shaking her shoulder. "Roseee," he said. "We've got to get off the train unless you want to end up in another city."<p>

She groaned and stood up, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm so exhausted."

He licked his lips. "Well, you could, um, I mean, if you _wanted_…"

Rose's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You could come back to my flat," he said, blushing.

"John, I've slept in the same bed as you, what, four times now, and you're shy to ask me to come back to your flat with you?" she teased, tongue making an appearance in her smile.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Absolutely. Wouldn't miss your breakfast buffet for the world. I need you to do all my homework for me, anyways."

"Rose Tyler!" he gasped, mocking offense. "You're just using me, aren't you?"

She kissed him and rested a hand on his hip, brushing her thumb in circles beside his pelvis. "Well, _maybe_ I am. But you have a lot of uses."

He swallowed thickly, becoming increasingly aware of the fact that they were in public. He hated his body for being further turned on by that. "I think I'm okay with that. Actually – scratch that – I'm a _very_ strong advocate of you using me in any way you deem fit."

She laughed and tugged him towards the entrance to the train station by his hand. "Time for that later. We've got our lives in front of us, you know."

He smiled at that and squeezed her hand. "We could become marine biologists!"

They stepped out onto the street. "Marine biologists?" Rose asked, giving him a curious look.

"Sure! Or astronauts. Ooo, imagine me as an astronaut! I think I could pull it off."

"You're more like a mad scientist," she mused. "You've got the hair for it."

He beamed. "I do, don't I? You can be my lovely assistant."

"More like the person who makes sure you don't blow up the entire lab," Rose joked, at which he bumped his shoulder into hers.

"Right before it exploded I would grab your hand and we could escape the building," he promised, bending down to kiss her cheek.

"Gee, my hero," she said sarcastically.

He hummed happily. "Should you text your mother and tell her we're going to my flat?"

Rose nodded. "I don't know how thrilled she'll be hearing that, but you're right – I should tell her."

She flipped open her phone and winced. "Jimmy has been texting me."

John clenched his jaw. "What does he have to say?"

"Just wanting to know where I am. I told him Sunday night, and it's like seven. He probably knows that I'm back by now."

"You've got to break things off with him," John pleaded, eyebrows knit together.

"I will," Rose responded. "You're right, and I will. But for tonight let's just go to your place, yeah?" She started typing to her mother.

"Whatever you want," he promised, kissing the top of her head.

* * *

><p>"What about me as a pilot?" John asked as they walked.<p>

Rose looked at him. "I don't know if I'd really trust you with plane controls – you'd probably want to push every big red button."

He laughed. "I would be a great pilot! Okay, fine, what about… A CEO of a big company?"

"You're too nice for that, I think. CEOs are supposed to be mean and scary."

"Um, a waiter?" he suggested.

Rose considered that. "Maybe. That'd be more up your alley. You might insult the menu, though. That could get you fired."

"Fair point," John replied, shrugging. "What other jobs are there? Uh, what about a real estate agent?"

She burst out laughing. "You'd never stop talking! That'd be hilarious!"

He pretended to pout but in a moment he was laughing as well. "On the contrary, I think my charming and endearing personality would sell _plenty_ of houses."

"I'd buy a house from you," she mused.

"What about with me?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

Rose felt her heart skip a beat and she blinked at him. "What?"

"Sorry," he blurted quickly. "That sort of just…"

"When we're older," she interrupted before he could get any further, "I'd love to." She thought for a moment and imagined it. All those couple-y things like having her shoes next to his kicked off by the front door and waking up every morning to his sweet, sleepy face.

She'd never particularly wanted any of that before, and she certainly hadn't expected it with Jimmy, but this was all so different. "Yeah. I'd really, really love to."

He beamed at her and she smiled right back, seeing love in his eyes and feeling her throat constrict and her chest fill up with a warm, tingly feeling that she wasn't sure she would ever get used to. Though, to be fair, she wasn't sure she wanted to get used to it.

They took a shortcut through an alley that cut in between several apartment buildings, at John's proposal. They continued talking about jobs for a while until their conversation somehow shifted to animals, then to music.

"You can't tell me you don't like the Beatles," John said, shaking his head at her.

"I don't not like them," Rose argued. "I've just never really listened to them. I'm not into old music."

"Old! They were like, the sixties, Rose. That's hardly old. The moment we get to my flat, I'm making you listen to every album," he promised.

She laughed. "How many albums do they have?"

"A lot. It might take a while."

Rose bit her bottom lip and snuck a hand up his shirt. His skin was cool and her hand was warm so she felt him shudder slightly. "We can do other things while we listen, maybe?" she suggested innocently, looking up at him through her lashes.

John's hands found her hips immediately and he pushed her up against the nearest wall before kissing his way down her neck in a desperate, sort of animalistic way. His hands were roaming everywhere they could possibly touch and there was nobody around so she touched him back with the same vigor, one of her forefingers circling his nipple and the other moving up and down the smooth expanse of his back encouragingly.

She pulled back enough to flip them around so that he was pressed up against the wall. John was looking at her with his hair thoroughly mussed up and sticking in every direction possible. His eyes were wide with surprise at the sudden action and his Oxford had been long ago pulled out of his trousers and rumpled up against his chest.

It looked as though he was glowing even in the dim light of the buildings around them, and it felt eerie quiet apart from the sound of their mixed panting and the light chatter of the city in the background.

"Rose," he mumbled, and before he could continue with whatever he was going to say she was pushing herself up against him and kissing him with a newfound audacity, nipping at his lips and running a hand through his hair – wanting to see it even more messed up, not because of the wind, though, but because of her and because of _them._

Her hands moved to his trousers and she started unbuttoning them, much to his shock. "Rose, what are you…"

She kissed him again while tugging them down his legs until they were pooled at his ankles. Rose looked down and could see him straining against his trousers and it felt impossibly quiet, then – the sounds of London had vanished completely and so had her own breathing – now it was just _him_ – completely and unreservedly.

"I want to do this for you," she mumbled into his ear, placing a kiss on his sideburn.

His eyes were still wide and she could tell that he was probably thinking a thousand things – maybe panicking or full of pure anticipation or, most likely, a mixture of both.

Her hand slipped into his pants and she grasped him for the first time. He was impossibly hot in her hand and he thrust towards her almost immediately, making her smile. "Can I?" she asked quietly, needing confirmation.

He nodded dumbly, and she took a long look because she was fairly certain she'd never quite seen him that dumbstruck that before. Then, Rose tucked her coat beneath her knees so that she wouldn't have to scrape her skin against the hard pavement. She lowered herself and pulled him out of his boxers – he was long, but not too long, and she smiled up at him.

He was staring at her, his eyes huge and fearful yet excited and very, very dark. When she stroked him with her thumb experimentally he threw his head back against the wall and mumbled a string of almost incoherent curse words.

Rose laughed quietly and took the tip of him into her mouth before releasing him with a pop, testing. He groaned quietly at the loss and thrust towards her weakly. Rose grinned and took him fully into her mouth this time, enjoying the way his fingers threaded through her hair but didn't push her or force her – they were just there, encouraging.

He made little noises with everything that she did and she mentally catalogued each one, learning what he liked versus what he loved. When she scraped her teeth as gently as possible along him he muttered "fuck" and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they would go.

She released him again and blew lightly on the tip. He almost went mad, then, it seemed, and she thought she heard his head hitting the wall. "Rose, Rose, _please, _oh god, please," he begged.

Rose did one long stroke with her tongue and he was coming almost instantly. She swallowed all of him and tucked him back in his boxers when he was eventually finished before starting to pull up his trousers for him, placing a light kiss to his knee.

"Rose, that was…" His voice trailed off and his eyes were still shut. His body was slack as if he wasn't quite yet willing to move.

"Good?" she prompted, giving him a smile.

He shook his head. "Doesn't even _begin_ to describe it."

"Let's head back to the flat now?" Rose suggested, extending her hand.

That was when they heard someone clearing their throat.

John spun his head around but couldn't see anyone and he wrapped an arm around Rose's waist protectively. "Who's there?" he demanded, cheeks tinted red. Hopefully they hadn't just seen… That.

A man walked out from around a corner, hands shoved in his coat pockets. His posture was casual but his face said otherwise – it was dark pink and his eyebrows were drawn together in anger. He was wearing a navy blue leather jacket and matching jeans.

"Jimmy," Rose breathed, taking a step forward and away from John. "Jimmy, listen…"

"You _fucking slut,_" Jimmy hissed, walking towards them.

John stepped forward in between them. "Hello, Jimmy," he said, body tense. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I'll bet you have," Jimmy growled, returning his attention to Rose. "Should have known you spent the last few days sucking guy's dicks. How much did he pay you, huh?"

Rose stiffened. "I was going to John's parents' memorial."

"Who the hell is John?" Jimmy demanded.

"Me," John answered.

Rose's heart was beating wildly and her vision narrowed in on Jimmy's hands. One was by his side, resting, but the other remained in his pocket, and the wrist was stiff. She swallowed and stepped in front of John, who didn't budge. "I can handle this," she whispered to him, her breath visible in the cold.

He shook his head stubbornly. "Rose, I think Jimmy and I should have a talk."

"I second that," Jimmy said, running his free hand through his short black hair. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing with my girlfriend?"

"Your girlfriend? You treat her like trash," John hissed.

"I've never gotten a blowjob from her in a filthy alley, have I?" Jimmy argued.

John took another step forward, and Rose could see his body trembling slightly with rage. "Some of the things you've done are illegal, you know."

Jimmy's eyes trained in on Rose, flashing with agitation. "What the fuck did you tell him, you lying bitch?"

Rose shook her head. "No, it's not… Just stop it, both of you."

"What did you think you would gain?" Jimmy continued. "You thought Rose would actually _stay with you?_ That's cute, honestly. Why don't you head home and I'll take care of her, all right? She's not into scrawny nerds. This doesn't have to get worse."

Jimmy reached forward to grab Rose's arm, and that was when everything got out of hand.

She processed the sound of a fist flying and it took her a minute to realize it was John and that Jimmy was stumbling back slightly, clutching his cheek and nose with one hand.

Jimmy stood back up on his feet and was approaching them so Rose grabbed his shoulders and kneed him in the stomach as hard as she could, making him lash out and uppercut in the chin before she made impact and he stumbled against the wall. John stared at her in shock but not for long because Jimmy's hand was fumbling in his pocket and Rose realized exactly what was happening a moment too late.

A gunshot rang out and that was when time slowed down.

Rose processed some sort of pressure on her left shoulder. She turned her head and saw that it was John, shoving her towards the pavement. She swore she could see the bullet hurtling at them in slow motion, but in the very next instant time was back to normal and she was on the ground.

Dirt and dust were in her lungs and she was coughing as she rolled onto her back. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jimmy standing there, gun trembling in his hands. Rose stood up on shaky legs, clutching her injured chin with one trembling hand and touching her cuts with the other.

Jimmy was terrified; that much was evident in his eyes, so Rose pried the gun out of his hands with ease and tossed it onto the ground beside him. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and stared straight past her, as if not quite believing what he was seeing. Rose bent down and picked up a rock, clutching it in her hand.

Jimmy just continued looking over her shoulder; shaking even more now with his sweaty hands limp at his sides. Rose raised the rock high behind her own ear and took a small step back. "I want to say I'm sorry about this, but I don't want to be a liar."

She winced at the sound the rock made when it collided with his skull, but was content with the result – he was passed out against the wall, probably would have a massive headache when he woke up, but not dead. Death was too good for Jimmy anyways – he deserved to rot in prison. She could still hear his breaths but his head had lolled forward and his eyes were shut.

Rose released the rock, hearing it clatter on the ground, and slumped down, clutching at her chin with one hand and hugging her knees with the other and still shaking, shuddering, trying desperately to catch her breath as her mind tried to process what had occurred.

"We should call the police," she said after a minute, trying to will herself to move at all. She was staring at Jimmy's unconscious body, trying to believe that this was the boy she had stupidly fallen in love with so recently.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid._

John didn't say anything to her.

"John?"

Rose lifted herself up to her knees before turning around and seeing what Jimmy had been so scared of.

He hadn't been scared of her, not of the fact that he had shot the gun, not of the fact that he had been punched, or the fact that he had hit her.

The fact that he had _shot someone._

Rose tripped over herself and cut her knees hurrying to him, seeing the sticky red blood that was staining his white shirt and spreading fast across the expanse of his chest. He was lying on his back and his breaths were quick and short, his eyes shut.

She'd never seen him look so pale.

He was normally full of life, as he had been ten minutes ago. Colored with pink cheeks and a smile that could power a city and happy crinkles around his eyes.

Even when he had cried into her arms or been scared or angry, she'd never seen him so pale. It was like looking at the body of a distant relative she'd never met.

Rose pressed her hands to the wound and her head was blurry, everything was surreal and he _wasn't_ actually lying here in front of her, dying, this was just a dream. Just a dream and she'd wake up in _his_ bed any minute and he would kiss her forehead and rock her in his arms because it was what they _did._

They helped one another, it was what they had always done, and it was what they would always do. It was a circle, he completed her, and she completed him.

And it was a dream. It _had_ to be a dream. That was the only explanation.

Because who would comfort her if he was gone? What would the world be without John Smith providing light and joy and happiness and love and everything good?

She couldn't remember life before him. Couldn't remember what she did on a day to day basis, couldn't remember how she had _ever _thought that she had loved someone else.

She heard a noise and it was him trying to say her name. He was stuttering out syllables and she snapped into action, yanking her cell phone out of her pocket and blindly dialing the police. The phone pressed to her ear and through her blubbering they could make out what she was saying and they promised they were sending units.

Rose pressed her forehead to his, her hands still pressing against the wound while the woman on the other line was trying to tell her what to do over speaker, how to stay calm, how to help him, but her voice was distant and hazy like background noise.

"Please, _please_ don't die," Rose sobbed against him, her tears dripping onto his own cheeks. "Please don't die, oh my god, don't die, John, don't die. You can't die. You can't leave me, we were just getting started."

He mumbled something but it was indistinct.

She was angry, now. Angry at Jimmy and John and mostly herself for getting him into all of this. He had had potential.

It should have been her.

She should be lying there. If she could pry the bullet out of him and plunge it into herself to save him, she was sure she wouldn't hesitate.

Why had he had to push her? Why did he have to be so selfless?

"We were just getting started!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "It's not fair… Oh god, this isn't fair." His head lolled to the side and his lips were parted slightly. "Wake up, John," Rose begged, pulling him into her lap and rocking him back and forth.

"Wake up, for me. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you more than anyone. I've always loved you. Just do this one thing for me. Just this one thing. You said you'd do anything for me, John. I love you. Please, I love you."

Nothing happened.

"Say it back?" Rose begged, seeing his cheek covered in his own dark blood from where her hands had been.

"Say it back, please…"

"Doctor?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hey guys! This is a bit of a pull-along chapter but I hope you enjoy anyways! I promise more action in the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Rose was, essentially, the last thing he could really remember.<p>

She was pushing on his chest with her hands and it was burning, aching, _exploding_ with surge after surge of what could only be described as unadulterated agony.

Anything he'd experienced before didn't compare. Skinned knees, a cut from a kitchen knife, burning his hand on the stove, stubbing his toe – it all meant nothing compared to this.

This was basically hell.

The back of his skull had been pushing into the gravel beneath him as hard as possible in a lame attempt to divert some of the pain. He'd read somewhere once that that helped with pain. Get stabbed in the hand? Kick yourself in the shin. That was the theory.

The theory, though, wasn't exactly working too well for him. He still wanted to be run over by a stampede of horses. Or maybe get his hand caught in the garbage disposal of a sink. That'd be far more preferable to this horror.

Because that's what it was, really – a horror. It was a nightmare and even as he felt his head being lifted from the hard pavement and being placed in her lap instead, it didn't get better.

He could just barely register her tears falling on his skin. The last thing he heard was her talking to him, excruciatingly incomprehensible words that he wished he could make out. And that he wished he could reply to. More than anything.

John felt useless, in a way.

Surely he could lift a hand, move his mouth, just do _something_ instead of just lying here. His eyes were shutting but it was as if he had no real control over his body, like a puppet.

One of Rose's hands moved from his chest to call the police. At least, that's what it sounded like she was doing.

His chest was tearing itself apart. Or maybe it was his stomach. Or maybe it was his limbs or his head. He couldn't really tell what hurt anymore – it was taking over his body like some sort of virus.

As much as he fought to keep his eyes open they remained closed, so he relied only on what he could feel to try and distract himself from the pain.

(The 'distracting himself from the pain' strategy – that was half something he'd read and half common sense, but it was proving to be impossible).

He'd always imagined blacking out as being an instantaneous sort of thing. Light, life, luminescence, and then black. But he was wrong. It was more of a slow process. First his body shut down, then his eyes shut down, and all that was left was his thoughts racing like a jet plane.

Panic.

He knew what that was. He knew panic on an intimate level.

He knew he shouldn't let it in but it was impossible because he was _dying, _he was certain he was dying. He was dying quickly and Rose was crying and Jimmy bloody Stone had shot him.

He was going to die. Of course he was going to die. He'd been shot. He didn't know where it had hit him, but he'd been shot.

They'd just started this thing. Him and Rose. This wonderful thing and it had to go and be ruined by this.

It would have been laughable, really, had it not hurt so much.

He could tell Rose about it later.

Maybe he could tell Rose about it later.

Hopefully.

Possibly.

No, he liked the 'maybe' better - it sounded more optimistic. Normally, John thought of himself as a realistic person, not necessarily leaning towards the pessimistic or the optimistic side unless it suited him.

But this could, most likely, be considered a special case.

John wished he could say he had been a hero. He wished that he could say he had pushed Rose out of the way knowing that he would get shot instead, or that he hadn't cared that he would die so long as she would live, or that he took the bullet out himself bare-handed like some sort of a hero in a movie.

Quite honestly, the only thing that he could think was how much it _hurt._ Whether or not he was a hero, he wasn't sure. He had registered Jimmy firing the gun and, yes, he _had_ pushed Rose out of the way, but he had had no idea that he would get shot instead of her.

(He thinks he would have still pushed her, though, had he known that he'd get shot instead. Quite honestly he would do it again, and again, and again to save her without hesitation. Did that make him a hero? John wasn't really sure.)

* * *

><p><em>Four months ago<em>

"Jimmy?" Rose called as she knocked loudly on the door. She could hear music blaring and some of the neighbors in the lobby had told her that they were going to call the police unless it was turned off – immediately. "Jimmy, open the door."

The door swung open and Jimmy stood there, looking as though he'd been hit by both a tornado and a kamikaze in the last hour. "What?"

Rose stomped past him into the room and grabbed the stereo's remote before hitting the off button and slamming the remote back on the counter, the noise echoing around the room. "Neighbors are complaining. What the _hell_ are you doing in here?"

She looked around at the wrecked flat. Crushed up red Solo cups lay across every surface and beer and wine and everything in-between was splattered across the carpet. "Were you having a party by yourself?"

Jimmy ran a hand over his face. "I don't need your interrogation right now, Rosie. I wanted a break - I was stressed out, alright?"

Rose picked up a bag off of the nightstand. "So you got _weed?_ To what, de-stress you? Well I sure hope that worked."

"I didn't put that there," he argued. "Someone else brought it."

Rose rolled her eyes. "It's still in _your_ flat. Do you think the police will care that someone else brought it? And the neighbors were going to call the cops on you, Jimmy. They probably still could. They might have already."

He didn't say anything.

She took another step closer to him. "What are you thinking? Do you _want_ to go to prison or are you just a stupid-"

He slapped her. Rose winced and her hand flew to her cheek, staring at him in shock.

"I said I was _stressed,_ Rose. I wasn't thinking. So stop nagging me, alright?"

She let out a sharp breath and rubbed at her cheek. She felt tears beginning to pool in the bottoms of her eyes so she stepped further into the flat to turn away from him. Rose didn't know what he would do if he saw her starting to cry, and she didn't particularly want to find out.

"Right. Stressed," she breathed when she trusted herself enough to talk without having a break down.

"Now help me clean up?" Jimmy asked, though she knew it was more along the lines of a command.

Rose picked up the bag of weed and nodded. "'Course I will."

* * *

><p><em>Present<em>

"I need you to describe in detail exactly what happened," the police officer said.

He was wearing a black cap on top of his head and there was a pen clutched in his meaty fist. A clipboard rested in his lap with a few forms attached to it – each bare. His features were set in a sympathetic sort of look, and Rose wished she could wipe that look off of his face, preferably with her fist. She knew it wasn't the officer's fault, but she wanted someone in the proximity to blame, and he just happened to be sitting here.

Rose sighed and rubbed at her forehead. "It's sort of blurry."

The officer clicked his pen. "Can you give me a brief description? _Anything?_"

Everything _was_ blurry, she hadn't lied. She'd seen John taken away in an ambulance while she was screaming and crying, and then they'd drive her to this hospital and had told her that she just needed to wait when she'd asked to see John frequently.

"I want to see him," Rose said quietly. "Even if he's..." She swallowed and stared down at the floor.

How the hell had this happened to her? Everything felt as if it wasn't real. As if she'd wake up at any time away from this nightmare. Even the ground beneath her feet felt as though it was made of Jell-O. Her head was pounding.

She took in a sharp breath and shook her head, trying to compose herself so she wouldn't cry more. She was fairly certain she was out of tears, anyways. "I just want to _see_ him. Do you understand?"

The officer clicked his pen again, offering a short nod. "I understand, miss, but he's in the emergency room right now."

"I don't care," Rose stated obstinately. "I _need _to see him."

"Ma'am do you know what happened out there?" Another click.

Rose shook her head. "Listen, I know what happened, but-"

"With all due respect, can you please tell me, ma'am?" The officer said with one eyebrow perked up.

She groaned and shoved several strands of hair out of her face. "Jimmy shot him. Jimmy Stone. The lady told me he's going to go to prison for a long time."

Another click. "What lady?"

"I don't know. Does it matter? Some lady who was talking to me while John... While he… John…" Rose felt nausea swirling around in her stomach and she slumped back into the uncomfortable chair she was sitting in, trying to settle it.

She could feel her breathing growing heavy again and white spots were starting to blur her vision. The world was spinning while she was standing still, as if it was trying to topple her.

The officer grabbed a trash bin and brought it over to her. Rose leaned over and vomited, feeling tears stinging her eyes as she did so. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked at the officer again blurrily.

When she was done, the officer set down the bin and ran a hand through his short, cropped black hair. "I'll let you wait here until he's stabilized. Then someone should come out and give you the okay to see him. That's the normal procedure for this sort of things. I'll need to talk to you later, though. Alright, miss?"

She nodded and he left his clipboard and pen on the seat where he had been. Rose picked up the pen, made her fist into a ball, and chucked it across the room as hard as she could. The satisfaction that she got from the sound of it hitting the wall was minimal at best, but at least it was something.

* * *

><p>It felt like ages before someone finally entered the room. It was a woman with short brown hair and glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She was wearing a white coat and Rose assumed she must be a nurse. Rose stood up immediately and walked up to her, heart pounding hard in her chest. She felt faint but managed to keep herself on her feet. "Is he okay? How is he?"<p>

"He's okay so far," the nurse said, her voice quiet. "He's not quite stabilized yet..."

"Should he be? Is he going to be?"

The nurse licked her lips and pushed her glasses up on her nose. Rose had seen John do that before whenever he read. She felt a little more nausea rising up in her stomach. "It's up to him in the end, I'm afraid. If he stabilizes, there's a very good chance he's going to live. If not..."

Rose nodded slowly and sunk down into the chair again, eyes pleading the nurse not to elaborate. She _couldn't_ hear them say die. Wouldn't. He wouldn't die. John wouldn't die.

"Is there anyone we should call?" the nurse asked.

"His... John's phone was in his pocket. When he... Um, can you give me his phone? I can call his family from there."

"We have on record that John Smith has no immediate living family," the nurse explained as gently as possible.

"Family friends," Rose clarified. "Practically his family."

The nurse smiled understandingly. "Names?"

"Wilfred Mott and Donna Noble."

She scribbled something down on her clipboard. "We'll bring you his phone, that is, if you'd like to make the call. If not, we can have-"

"I'll make the call," Rose assured her. "I'll... It'd be best for me to do it."

* * *

><p>She got John's phone and clicked on Donna's contact, before pressing it close to her ear and taking in a breath.<p>

Donna picked up on the third ring. "John? Listen, if you need more relationship advice, I'm going to have to take a rain check, because..."

Rose closed her eyes and winced. "Donna, it's me."

Donna laughed. "Oh, that's embarrassing. For him, I guess. Where's John?"

"Are you...?" Rose had no idea how to do this. No idea. "Are you sitting down?"

"I'm in the living room," Donna said slowly. "Wilf is upstairs."

"Right," Rose breathed. "Listen, Donna. John is... He's in the emergency room. I'm here, too. He got..."

Before she could finish, she heard Donna yelling up the stairs for Wilfred to come down. Donna spoke back into the phone, her voice anxious. "What do you mean he's in the emergency room? Is this some kind of prank?"

Rose sniffed and ducked her head. "He got shot. They... They think he's going to be all right but they're not sure yet. Oh god, Donna, it's all my fault."

"Rose, slow down. Who shot him?" Donna demanded. "How did he even get _shot?_"

"Jimmy. Jimmy Stone," Rose gasped, wiping madly at her cheeks to get rid of tears. "I'm so sorry, Donna. I'm _so_ sorry."

"Oh, sweetheart," Donna said after a moment. "He'll be all right." Rose could tell Donna was trying to comfort her, but she could also tell that Donna was crying on the other end. Her words were slurring together and her voice quieter than the blunt woman that Rose had come to know. "He's stubborn, that one. He wouldn't… You know."

Rose nodded, sniffing. "They won't let me see him and I just... Can you? Could you both come?"

"We'll leave right away," Donna promised. "What hospital is it?"

* * *

><p>"What blood type is he again? Nurse!"<p>

"He's O negative," a nurse called over her shoulder. She put a cold pad on the man's forehead and patted it gently. His hair was long and drooping over his forehead so she pushed it back with her other hand. "He needs more blood."

"I'll grab some more," another nurse offered.

"The girl who came with him wants to see him," a third nurse said, bursting into the room.

The doctor shook his head. "Not until he's stabilized. What's her affiliation?"

The nurse pursed her lips. "Girlfriend."

"Not family, then. Tell her she'll have limited access, but nobody can see him until he's steady anyways," the doctor instructed.

"He has no living family," the nurse reminded him.

"Marie, I'm trying to save his life. I don't _care_ if his girlfriend wants to see him - she can wait if she wants him to live."

Marie nodded obediently and rushed out of the room.

The nurse with the cool washcloth in her hand heard a quiet whimper and saw the patient moving his lips slowly, smacking them together. "He needs more anesthesia, he's coming to. Hey, John, you're going to be all right. We got the bullet out of you. Stay calm, okay?"

* * *

><p>The nurse entered the room again and Rose stared at her impatiently. "Can I..."<p>

"The doctor said that you're going to have limited access to him," the nurse said quietly – almost regretfully. "Since you're not family. But either way, he's still not..."

"Don't tell me I have limited access to him," Rose snapped. "He has no other family, and I _am_ going to be there when he wakes up. I don't care what you or any doctor says - I _will _be there. Do you know why?" she asked, her firm voice only holding a barely-there quiver.

The nurse shook her head, looking puzzled and a little bit scared.

"Because he would be there for me," Rose wept, burying her face in both of her hands. "If it was me in there, he'd be helping somehow. I'm useless. I don't know what to do for him."

She heard the nurse sitting down beside her and felt an arm wrapping around her side. "Between you and me, I think he's going to be fine."

Rose sniffled and looked at her through puffy red eyes. "I'm sorry - I was being mean. None of this is your fault; I shouldn't be taking it out on you. It's not fair of me."

"It's already forgotten," the nurse promised. "Do you want to know something?"

Rose frowned. "What?"

"A lot people in the emergency room - do you know why they die?"

Rose opened her mouth to say something along the lines of, _perhaps this isn't the most optimistic conversation that we could be having, _but closed it when she realized she did want to know what the nurse was going to say.

The nurse gave a small smile. "It's because they have nobody to live for."

She didn't quite know what to say to that. "So you think…?"

"I'm not supposed to make promises," the nurse explained. "But if I _had_ to make a bet, I'd say he's going to live."

* * *

><p>"Does he have any allergies or medical conditions?" a woman asked, stepping into the room and looking from Rose to Marie and then back again.<p>

Rose sniffled. "Aspirin. He can't have aspirin - did you give him any?"

The nurse frowned and shook her head. "No, we didn't. Anything else?"

Rose licked her lips. "He's just healthy. Really healthy." She let out a short laugh and wiped at her eyes, "Like a bull."

The woman smiled. "Good. That'll help him out, I bet."

The nurse named Marie hugged Rose again while the other one left the room. "See? Sounds like he's going to be fine."

Rose laughed. "Donna - his friend - she told me he's too stubborn. Donna, is, uh, on her way. With her grandfather. Practically his grandfather."

"Good," the nurse said, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm going to get back into the emergency room, there's always something to do in there. Will you be okay in here by yourself? I can always send someone else in."

Rose sniffed again and shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. Um, if he..." She swallowed. "Tell him I love him, would you? Even if he's, I don't know, not awake... Just tell him for me?"

Marie nodded. "Of course I will."

* * *

><p>"Oh, Rose," Donna said as she rushed into the room, pulling Rose in for a tight hug.<p>

Rose wasn't sure what seeing Donna and Wilfred stirred in her, but she almost immediately began crying into Donna's shoulder. She clutched at the fabric of Donna's purple jacket and hugged her tight.

Pain filled her entire body and she wanted to collapse and never get back up. Or she wanted to shrink until she was practically invisible and get stepped on again and again just to put herself out of this misery.

She couldn't breathe and her heart wasn't working properly and her throat was getting that horrible lumpy feeling that she got whenever she was upset except it was worse than it had ever been before. Rose was certain that getting stabbed would be less painful than this. She felt like she hadn't slept in centuries, which wasn't helping, either.

And god, _John._

She missed him. She missed him like you'd miss an arm or a leg or any piece of yourself.

That stupid smile that he got whenever he was excited. His stupid eyes that practically sparkled when he was happy. His stupid hair that she liked to ruffle and run her fingers through and that she knew he loved to shampoo and condition with expensive products even if he'd never admit it. His dumb jokes.

_Everything._ All of him.

She remembered just two days ago when she'd held him at his parents' grave while he sobbed into her shoulder. Remembered the way he felt in her arms and how she knew he didn't want her to see him cry but he couldn't quite stop himself anyways.

Rose looked at Donna again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. He… John pushed me… and then Jimmy… And then the ambulance came and then... And..." Her words were coming out more like random, short syllables than actual comprehendible sentences but she couldn't bother to make sense of them.

Donna made little shushing noises as her hands moved up and down her back. "It's all right. Nobody's blaming you, Rose. It's that absolute prat Jimmy's fault, yeah?"

Rose nodded. "I want to see him, Donna. I need to see him _so_ bad."

"They won't let you still?" Donna asked.

"Not until he's stabilized," Rose cried as she pulled Wilfred in for a hug next.

Wilfred smiled sadly as he sat down in a chair. "Let me tell you a story, Rose."

She stared at him and pursed her lips. "A story?"

"When John was five years old, he was at the top of the staircase in our house. You know the one. With the wood."

Rose did. She nodded slowly and sunk down into a chair, not sure at all where this was going.

"Well, I was sitting in the kitchen, when all of a sudden I heard this bonking noise."

Rose let out a breathy laugh and wiped at her eyes again.

"He had fallen down the stairs. _All_ the way down the stairs - even around the corner. Don't even ask me how he managed that, he was a special one."

"A _very_ special one," Donna added with a good-natured eye roll.

"Anyways, I was scared out of my wits," Wilfred continued. "I ran over to him and picked him up but he wouldn't open his eyes, so I called the police and told them I needed an ambulance," Wilfred explained.

The smile was wiped from Rose's face as she stared at him, sniffling.

"But the moment the ambulance came, he opened his eyes and stared right up at me. And you know what he did?" Wilfred asked, grabbing Rose's hand in his own.

Rose shook her head. "What?"

"He started giggling. Uncontrollably giggling as we heard the ambulance pull up to our building," Wilf laughed, shaking his head.

Rose let out another shaky laugh and squeezed Wilf's hand. "Really?"

"I don't know if he was faking being hurt, or if he just found it funny," he said.

"Explains why his head is funny now, though," Donna sighed affectionately, shutting her eyes.

Wilfred sighed and hugged Rose again. "He'll be fine. Probably more worried about you than himself, I'll bet."

* * *

><p>Marie entered the waiting room again, shutting the door behind her.<p>

Rose looked up. "Is he?..."

Marie nodded, a huge grin breaking out across her features. "He's in a steady condition, now. The doctor said he thinks he's going to be just fine."

Rose hugged her tight, turning around slowly. "Thank you," she mumbled into Marie's shoulder. "Thank you thank you thank you. A thousand times, thank you."

She turned around to where Donna and Wilfred had fallen asleep in their chairs.

"Better to let them sleep," the nurse said. "You can tell them right when they wake up, but it's completely up to you, of course."

Rose nodded. "You're right, they need sleep." She started walking towards the door but Marie shook her head.

"You still can't go in there. I'm sorry," she said.

Rose's face fell. "Why not?"

"He's stabilized," Marie explained, "but not awake. And the doctor doesn't want him having visitors yet, while he's still caring for him."

"How long?" Rose asked.

"I can't say," the nurse said apologetically.

Rose bit her lower lip. "Tell me as soon as I can come in?"

Another sympathetic smile. "I will."

* * *

><p>"He's trying to say something," a nurse with a nametag reading 'Polly' said from the patient's bedside while the doctor worked on giving him more blood. "But he's still asleep."<p>

The doctor raised an eyebrow, not paying too much attention to the nurse. "Nonsense or actual words?"

"Mostly nonsense, a few words maybe. I can't really make most of it out," the nurse explained, brushing his hair out of his forehead again. "Must talk in his sleep."

She made quiet soothing sounds as he started muttering aimlessly again, his head pressing into the pillow. Polly brushed her fingers through his hair repeatedly and he started to calm down a bit. Giving him an affectionate smile, she continued her ministrations.

"Developing a crush on the patient, Polly?" the doctor asked with a coy smile.

Polly just rolled her eyes at that and continued what she was doing. "John, you're going to be all right," she said quietly. "Just hold on, okay?"

* * *

><p><em>Four months ago<em>

"Get up," Jimmy said, nudging Rose's arm. "We've got to go."

"Go where?" Rose groaned. "I don't want to get up."

He laughed. "Too bad. We're heading to that party I told you about a few days ago."

Rose sighed and buried her head in the soft, white pillow. "The one at, um..." She snapped her fingers, trying to remember.

"Yankovich's place," he reminded her. "Go put on makeup, we're leaving in twenty."

She sat up, keeping the blankets clutched to her chest. "Alright."

Rose got out of bed and got dressed in some of the clothes she had stored in his closet - a simple red dress with flats that matched. She put on white stockings to go with it and did her hair up in a simple bun - she wasn't feeling fancy today, and she'd been to a Yankovich party before - they were basically just an excuse to drink and, for some, to have sex with strangers. Nobody cared about the formalities.

"Makeup," Jimmy reminded her when he entered the living room. He let out a short laugh as his eyes raked her form, eyebrows shooting up when he caught sight of her red dress with the white stockings. "You look like a candy cane. That's okay, though, the dress is sexy."

"I was thinking I'd just go like this," she said quietly, gesturing towards her face. A pounding headache was distracting her from whatever else it was he was saying.

Jimmy made a face, as if she had just said the thickest thing in the world. "Rose, you need makeup. It's a party, obviously. Come on, hurry; we don't have a lot of time unless we want to be late. And I am _not _going to be later than five minutes."

She nodded and walked into the bathroom, smoothing down her dress as she did so.

He was right, after all. It _was_ a party, and nobody showed up to a party without makeup – even if it was a Yankovich party. Rose looked at her reflection in the mirror. Yeah, she'd need a _lot_ of concealer for those bags under her eyes.

Maybe she should change the dress, too. And do her hair a little nicer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Be sure to leave a review to tell me what you think! I always appreciate it! :D


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